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Peter Hale is a much simpler creature than most people believe him to be.
He has never been the charitable type, even before the fire. If there is no benefit or gain for him, then why must he bother himself with rescuing some poor, luckless soul? Being the Left Hand to one of the oldest and the most respected packs in North America didn't allow him much room in his heart for notions of mercy. Doubly so after the notorious house incident. Now he knows with certainty that there will be no place for him at the pearly gates when his time finally and irreversibly does come, so why waste his borrowed time with efforts in doing the “right thing”?
As Stiles so eloquently puts it: not his circus, not his monkey.
He does not owe the world or any of its inhabitants even a passing thought.
However, Peter has been known to, perhaps, have a . . . soft spot of sorts for loudmouth teenagers nowadays. An unfortunate oversight on his part, but one much too late to fix.
And it may be the case that sometimes he offers aid and rescue when it is not for his benefit, but for said loudmouth teenagers.
So when he receives an update from one of the little Wolves assigned to protecting his little Red-Riding-Hoods about a big bad Wolf not playing very nice, he rolls back into Beacon Hills days later. Neither Red seems grateful for his abrupt return, but they are much more welcoming than the child Alpha stomping around his family’s territory.
As it turns out, Scott has adopted quite a few new foolhardy pups. Peter’s ongoing existence around the new blood is vastly discouraged. Although he does not seem to be the only reject. Upon assessing the new dynamics of the Pack for himself, Peter finds it is clear that there is no outright fight to be had.
Yet.
It's coming.
Sooner rather than later, as evident by the constant palpable tension in the air and the literal divide in the room. Scott's misfits vs. Stiles' pack.
It's on the horizon. And Peter will be ready for it. You see, claws are not what the Reds are lacking. No, they already have all the brawn they require to stand a chance against McCall and his crew. It would be a waste of Peter’s talents to relegate him to more brawn. What the Reds truly require is a Right Hand, admittedly not a role he is accustomed to, but one he knows the steps of. A player under their command that can think like Athena rather than Ares. And the world should know that Peter Hale understands how to play the long-con.
So laying in wait, Peter observes. From the sidelines, he monitors the new recruits and where they fit into Scott's makeshift Pack, but most importantly, how they interact with the other packmembers. It only takes a week for Peter to come to the opinion that none of the newbies are all too interesting. Or rather, none too opportune as of yet.
A new gold-eyed Beta that will likely not remain golden-eyed for long, with control as fragile as a water balloon. Of course, Stiles and Lydia are the only ones really working with the pup to find an appropriate anchor, while also dissuading him from foot holding himself to a girl. They have all seen and experienced the poor results of such a situation with McCall.
As for the second new recruit, well, apparently all new Wolves now come with a curious human attached. Not that Peter is against this seemingly cosmic design. Two of his favored loudmouthed teenagers came along as baggage, and they have proven themselves the most competent amongst the crowd. Therefore, when Peter meets Mason, he does so with a keen eye and a smile. The young man’s thirst for answers is already so promising.
Then, of course, last but most promising of all, there comes Theo Raeken. The ideal student, friend, and packmate. Claiming to be a wayward Wolf who escaped an Alpha who non-consensually bit him, but all he longs for now is a space to belong. Truly a tale to resonate with Scott’s own kindred heart. And to boot, it is nearly believable with the way Theo tells it.
Nearly.
Heartbeats, while a good indicator of lying, are not infallible contrary to what certain Alphas may think. Stiles’ rabbit heartbeat is proof of that. Even if it is calmer than just years ago, the rhythm is consistently faster and erratic no matter the circumstance. Which makes it more difficult to know when their boy genius is being honest or a liar, something even Peter himself has gotten wrong in the past. Although, it is no longer just Stiles’ heartbeat marching to its own cadence, but the Reds are unready/unwilling to broadcast that little nugget of information to those too careless to pay attention. Regardless, the point remains the same. Hearts are finicky. Peter always inspects for other tells alongside them. And despite his admitted talent, what gives this Theo boy away is the glint in his eyes. A glint that reflects off of something darker. Familiar in a way Peter most definitely knows. That alone makes him dangerously interesting.
Which is why Peter, now, three weeks into his grand return to Beacon hills and becoming a vigilant shadow, offers the dangerously interesting boy some sage advice:
“You’re going about this all wrong.”
The oldest Hale smirks, leaning on the loft’s kitchen doorway as Theo stops pouring whatever sugar-based drink McCall had asked him to prepare for the Pack movie night. Obviously Peter had not been invited, and the new packmember most definitely would have not been left alone if Scott or any of the others knew he would be around, but Peter has been waiting for this moment. McCall's own fault for leaving his Beta unattended in Hale territory.
Dedicated to playing his role of sheep, the boy looks up slowly from the half completed task he was assigned by his Alpha to give Peter an uncertain once-over and raising a singular skeptical eyebrow. “I would ask about what, but Scott told me not to talk to you.”
“Oh, I’m sure he did,” Peter huffs a laugh. The True Idiot needs a hard shove off his pedestal. And Peter is about ready to see that he’ll receive it tenfold if his latest accusatory behavior against Stiles continues, but that’s a matter for after this conversation. “But as someone who has previously failed at taking over Beacon Hills,” he saunters into the room and advances on the pup, “I believe you may value some insider advice.” Other than appearing wary, whether it be for the act or not, Theo shows no sign of protest for their decreasing distance. “Divide and conquer, while good in theory, won’t work in your favor.”
This is where the good boy puts up a faux fight like he is supposed to. “I have no idea what you’re going on about, dude. I’m just - ”
“You are underestimating your enemy. In particular, you are underestimating Stiles and – ”
“Stiles is not my enemy.”
This interruption feels much more authentic. Albeit, it may have to do with the rumbling quality of the boy’s voice as he speaks, but Peter believes he's caught his first glimpse of the Wolf hidden under that woolen disguise.
Wool and all is back in place after a single blink, the boy expressing more annoyance than anger. His scent barely has shifted this entire time, despite his lapse in control. Expertly adopting an air of innocent defense rather than ruthless protection to make up for his slip. It could almost be thought that Peter had witnessed a mirage.
But that glint is harder to cover up.
Titling his head in a thoughtful manner, Peter stares down the little Wolf. The possibilities for him are truly fascinating. “If you want Stiles then you need Lydia, and vice versa. You won’t accomplish anything by aiming to separate them. Or, worse yet, harming one of them without fearing the wrath of the other. Perhaps at one point that would have worked but certainly no longer.”
Deciding that's the ample amount of aid the twerp should be graced with for now, especially without so much as a thank you for it, Peter turns on his heels to vacate the premises. It’s not as though Scott or even Derek want him around for any longer than they need him to be. Instead, he’ll wait and prepare for later tonight, when the loudmouth teenagers he has somehow allowed into his life inevitably invade his true den. Though before he does leave, he calls over his shoulder, sure that only Theo will be listening to him anyway: “Do pay more attention the next time you see the pair together, though really where one is, the other won't be far. You’ll find something interesting about the duo.”
~~~
Over the next couple of days, Peter has the pleasure of witnessing firsthand if the boy is smart enough to heed his warning. He’s delighted to watch those cold blue eyes, not unlike his own, follow Stiles’ movement with Lydia more carefully.
Their brilliant brunette gradually, unconsciously draws closer to the Banshee during research and pack and regular nights, just so that they have contact at all times. The astounding girl unthinkingly comes to his side both physically and metaphorically during any discussion, but especially the ones that collide with Scott’s black and white views. Each of them first and foremost look to and for the other during a fight. It is undeniable how vital the one is to the other.
Peter wonders if he should explain it to the poor boy, the faintest scent of jealousy leaking off him at the sights he sees. This intimacy that they share has nothing to do with romance or sexual interests, after all. No, this goes deeper. Together they are Deaton’s wet dream. The perfect balance of magic. The essence of yin and yang.
And their renown is not limited to this nightmare of a town, either. How could it be? They are phenomenal. They are a phenomenon. Of course other supernaturals aside from Peter would take interest in them. The passersby that Scott trusts without thought, coming and going from his territory as they please no matter malicious or benevolent intent, recount sightings and encounters and tales of Stiles Stilinski - the Spark created from belief, touched by the darkness of the Void - and Lydia Martin - the harbinger of death who has brought life back from the veil.
The twin Red-Riding-Hood's scampering around the hellmouth called Beacon Hills: The Gemini.
Perhaps Peter is responsible for some of the taller tales that circulate, but that is neither here nor there. For the most part, all the stories are real and people now know that while Beacon Hills is run by an isolated Pack with no alliances and an unofficial claim to the land by a toddler Alpha, there is still a fearsome force ruthlessly protecting the town.
The fact that Theo does not know this only says to Peter that the boy has not been part of the supernatural community long, or maybe even at all. With all the other little things the teenager seems to know, it strikes Peter as odd that he hasn’t come prepared with this openly secret knowledge. It leads the Wolf to believe that perhaps the kid is more book smart than street smart; not used to playing with others.
Then again, it is all about knowing the right persons when it comes to discussing non-human affairs. After all, McCall knows nothing of this. Knows not that the two individuals closest to being human are the ones that people fear when they cross the territory line.
But this all begs the question, how disconnected from the world is Theo?
~~~
Jackson and Ethan, back in Beacon together since the end of the previous summer and right in time for the celebrated start of Senior year of high school, don’t often trouble themselves with the McCall Pack unless explicitly invited by one or both the Reds. Funnily, an invitation is not needed for wandering into the Stilinski or Martin house whenever they please. Hilariously, Jackson gets pissy every time he waltzes into one of the fore mentioned households with possessive ownership and finds McCall packmembers littering the place. Stinking up his mark on the ruby beauties. Which is why, even in his tantrum state, he sticks close to one barely-human packmate while his partner securely protects the other.
“Please don’t fall in,” Jackson comments as Stiles shifts his body weight a hair too close to the oven’s heated racks. The brunette is checking the temperature of the roasted chicken they have cooking for Post-Training dinner held in the Martin's fancy, and big enough, dinnering room to fit all of their assorted motley crew. Why checking the dead fowl required him sticking his whole upper body inside the fire contraption is anyone’s guess.
“Do you want to help? Because I can totally let you do this instead of barking orders at me,” Stiles snipes back, sending a glare over his shoulder. It’s cute how they still bicker like mortal enemies’. That particular stage of life has outgrown them, but the packmates keep up their well maintained dynamic.
“Fine, last time I try to care about you.”
Stiles sticks his tongue out at the blonde like a child before bending back over to stick the bird in the ass with a thermometer.
With Lydia’s needed assistance, Stiles’ wardrobe has been updated as of late. Nothing departing too much from his Stiles sense of style, but there’s a distinct lack of bad graphic t-shirts and baggy pants, overall wearing items that actually fit his frame now. Such as the pants he has on at that moment: a set of black jeans that compliment his figure very nicely, as they were created to.
Peter sees the moment of impact coming from a room away as Theo, who is grabbing some napkins for something or other, walks up at the exact right time to get a full view of Stiles bent at the waist.
“Nice ass.”
Even with half his body lent into a death trap, the automatic Stilinski response is naturally, “Nice tits.”
The Werewolf preens at the reflex of a statement. “You like them?”
Jackson has to grab Stiles by the back of the designer shirt collar to keep the Spark from climbing into the oven the rest of the way and closing the door behind him. Theo leaves the kitchen cackling.
~~~
Less pleasurably, but ultimately more assuring, Peter is equally around to witness Theo discovering whatever fucked up thing Derek and Stiles are.
It started with a very innocent jaunt through the Preserve when Peter and Stiles had come across a body.
A bloody, torn, unidentifiable body. A body dripping with a strange silver liquid Peter oddly recognizes but cannot name, congealed with the oozing blood when they stumbled across the cold corpse. Ever more mysterious, by the time they had met with and informed the Pack of their surprise discovery, circling back to the site as a group, the body was nowhere to be found.
It’s a coin toss if Scott would have believed them if not for the smell of blood and distinct note of death hidden beneath a scorched sort of scent that wafted around the area. Regardless, after more than some back and forth at the loft thereafter, the group give up venturing to solve a murder that doesn’t have a victim. This is when Derek calls Stiles aside.
“Can you stay after?” Derek asks, once the emergency meeting that went absolutely nowhere is officially over.
The Spark lights up at the question. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he gets a little too close into the Werewolf’s personal space. “Who? Me? Well, I suppose I could. If you really wanted me to, Sourwolf.”
Derek must be in one of his rare good moods because his face softens at the other man’s genuine excitement at spending additional time together. “Of course I want you.”
It’d be romantic if the Pack hadn’t seen this song and dance a hundred times over. It won’t last. It never does.
Malia looks ready to interject herself in the middle of the scene in protest, but Lydia intercepts by asking if the Coyote would like to spend the night at the empty Martin house, and - just like that - the girl is distracted by the promise of sex. Though, Peter knows that the true reason Malia drops the matter so easily is because said sex promised is with Stiles’ other half. She trusts Stiles’ other half to be doing what’s best for Stiles.
Stiles knows patterns. They are all simply waiting for him to figure this one out for himself. Then again, knowing the boy, he probably does have it all figured out. He just doesn’t have the willpower to knock himself out of the cycle.
The girls slip away fast and efficiently before they can be questioned further about their plans, but Jackson and Ethan close on their tails. The youngest pup, Liam, and his human attachment, Mason, hadn't even been called for this particular incident, which Peter supposes he understands. They are both too fresh and green-gill to be called in for murder investigations and body retrievals. Peter could stay in the loft in his designated room up the stairs and down the hall, but he’s never been particularly voyeuristic, so he exists with the rest of them. The others linger for moments long, all of which being firmly on Team Scott for varying reasons, and Peter decidedly waits for them. He simply wishes to keep an eye and ear out on both the useless Alpha and the new Beta with a glint in his eye. This deliciously pays off for him as he descends the stairs down to the bottom floor behind Scott. It’s hard to have a private conversation when the entire group minus two would-be lovers all must descend the narrow flight of stairs.
“He’s not in trouble, is he?” Theo asks in a hushed voice to the Alpha on their way out.
“Oh,” Scott laughs awkwardly, “no. It’s just about that time for them to have some fun again. This happens a lot. Like, a lot. They have this Will-We, Won’t-We thing going on that's kinda cute, but also hard to watch when it goes back to Won't-We.” Theo’s heart does not falter as he hears this explanation, but his feet certainly do. Scott catches the new by the shoulder and saves him from riding his way down the steps. “Woah, you okay man? Tripping on invisible wire?”
Isaac snorts at the joke, adding on his own, “Or the invisible body Stiles found?”
“Isaac!” Kira admonishes, her face contorting mildly in horror at the blatant jab at a packmate, and the curly-fry laughs even harder in return.
Theo doesn’t seem to like the insult to Stiles any more than their resident fox, but bypasses his own thoughts to backtrack the conversation. “Sorry, that kinda surprised me. I mean, Derek and Stiles seem like polar opposites. I hadn’t really pictured them together.”
“Oh, they’re not,” Isaac answers, “No matter how much Stiles pines for commitment. Derek’s not ready to settle down. Not that I blame him. I wouldn’t want to tie myself to Stilinski forever either.”
“Isaac!”
“Yeah, who would ever want that?”
Peter smiles when he hears the off-beat reply by Theo. It’s said in the same lighthearted manner as the rest of the conversation held, but contains a mocking undertone that can be mistaken for jest. Peter isn’t mistaken. Theodore has a special little loudmouth teenager for a weak spot as well.
~~~
Peter goes to the loft on a perfectly cloudy autumn morning, searching for his nephew to discuss logistics of the Hale vault and what they are individually owed. It's better to have their ducks in a row before one of them inevitable flees the town again in the foreseeable future. That is what the Hales are best known for nowadays, he supposes. Running away from reality.
He does not find the mentioned nephew. Luckily, he discovers someone much more pleasing.
Stiles leans his elbows on the kitchen counter as he types away at his phone. At first, Peter smirks to himself as he prepares to prowl up on the human, starting off his morning good by giving his favorite Spark a jumpstart. But this plan changes the moment he draws close and catches the boy’s scent.
He stinks of sex and heartache.
It seems that Derek has had his fun with little thought to the consequences. Very on-brand for Derek at this point.
“Well,” Peter says to announce his presence in the room. To his wicked delight, it startles Stiles regardless. Much more pleasant to his nose, there’s a spike of crisp surprise layering over the sweet-scented hurt. Though the sex stink will unfortunately overpower all until a second, more thorough shower is taken. “Would you look at what the Wolves dragged in.”
“Not in the mood, Peter,” Stiles responds back immediately. He stares back down intently at the screen.
“Oh, I see,” the man tsks in sympathy. “No time for aftercare today?”
The glare he earns himself is deviously dark. He’s lucky that Stiles’ magic is a bit more complex than just belief because there’s no doubt Peter would be keeled over for a second time in his life.
“Now, now. Don’t be hasty. I’ll do the caring by returning you to your den.”
Stiles scowls once more at his phone. “I already asked Lydia for a ride.”
“Has she left yet?” The boy bites his lip with a quick glance at his phone before shaking his head. “Then tell her that she can meet us at the house.”
~~~
John meets them at the door, scanning the unlikely pair as they exit Peter’s Lambo parked in the Stilinski driveway. The Werewolf appreciates how good the man looks even outside of his uniform and dressed in a casual gray t-shirt with jeans. Simple but rugged.
When they reach the house the father sighs, “damn it kid, what have I said about stranger danger,” even as he pats his son on the shoulder as a welcome home.
“I’m hardly a stranger, John,” Peter purrs, going as far as to sound personally offended and clutching his pretend pearls. Although, Peter would let John give him a pearl necklace if he asked nicely.
A dry look is the only thing that stares back at him. “That’s part of my problem.” He rudely doesn’t give Peter the time for a witty retort as he turns immediately to Stiles to inform him, “Lydia is already upstairs in your room. I’ll have some breakfast ready for all of us in half an hour.”
Peter isn’t one to ask for an invite, so the Wolf decides he’s included in the all of us by passing the father-son duo to enter the house.
Stiles sighs at Peter, but then nods mutely to his dad before rushing into the house without a snappy remark of any sort. It’s clear he’s embarrassed about the situation they have found him in. Peter can sympathize.
John herds Peter quite rudely away from the family photos he’s inspecting and into the kitchen. Though maybe he likes the little slap on the ass used to get him moving.
He takes a seat at the empty kitchen table as he watches Stilinski - the very same fresh-eyed deputy who used to take him home after a handful of rebellious teenage-werewolf adventures gone wrongful right - move about the room. It’s a wonder how they’ve found themselves in this predicament of existence. They had once barely meant anything more than an equal annoyance to one another's lives. Now here they sit far more entangled than ever thought possible, lifetimes away from whom they each once were. He’s certain that the human never imagined his life leading this way. John is a smart man, he surely has ruefully connected more than a few dots in the town's inexplicable history that lead back to all things supernatural. Realized all he has missed all these years. No longer blissfully ignorant of the carnage done to and created from this town.
Still, Peter thinks, they have been far worse off than sitting with comfortable silence in the presence of a used-to-be acquaintance while the kids they protect lick their wounds upstairs.
While cracking the third egg, the man asks, “is he being safe?”
“Physically?” the Wolf prompts back. “Yes, as far as I can tell. Very vanilla and consensual. Emotionally?”
“Derek’s going to break his heart,” John says with a certainty only a father could know.
Peter hums in response. He fears Derek will break more than the Spark’s heart at this rate, but he is kind enough not to voice such a notion to the Sheriff. Instead, he supplies: “The Theo boy likes him.”
That gets the human to glance away from the pan of unfertilized failures. “The one he's been accusing of being a pod-person?”
“If I recall correctly, Stiles’ relationship with my nephew started with an accusation of murder.” John tilts his head side to side as he considers that point, an action Peter has seen Stiles do many-a-times during research nights. From the look in his eyes, the man ends up agreeing with the Wolf. “It must be a Stilinski trait to be lured in by bad-boys.”
“There’s a difference between bad-boy and serial killer.”
“Not much of one in the lives we live, Sheriff,” Peter counters. For extra measure, he throws in a sly wink. “Besides, even with the slight differences, it haven't kept either of you away.”
He howls in laughter at the unimpressed stare he gets in return before John ignores him in favor of not burning their food.
~~~
“Would you fucking stop it!” Stiles hisses his words.
It’s enough to draw Peter’s attention away from the tome he and his Banshee are reading together. They have the ancient book he has so graciously brought from his own collection open on the coffee table in front of the couch and are taking separate notes to compare later.
Pausing his pen, the Wolf peers over to where the Spark and their newest packmate are playing a round of chess on the floor of the loft this fine Wednesday afternoon. The kids have only been around for the past hour since school was let out. There is no meeting or gathering for the day, but their Alpha continuously tries to convince them that bonding by choice will help bridge whatever gaps they currently have. It's the first, and most probably only, rationale argue he has ever made. Though it is rather ironic that none of his puppies are making the same attempts as the humans he most often finds fault with nowadays - even Isaac who lives in the loft with the younger Hale is among the missing. At least Malia is out shopping with Kira, an activity Lydia would have gladly joined if not for the Gemini’s need to remain close. The Reds are here for Peter (well, Stiles might be here for another Hale, but there's hope that this is not the case), Scott is here Theo, and it's questionable why Theo is here, but Peter has a pretty little guess.
Derek, from where he’s lounging in his own separate chair and reading some overrated and outdated old literature ‘classic,’ also glances up at the exclamation but does so with a bored glare. His usual fruity scent morphs to a sour-apple odored annoyance.
“Stiles,” Scott calls with a sigh, acting like he’s dealing with an unruly child. More irony if you ask Peter. “Don’t get upset with Theo just because he’s winning.”
“Or be quiet about it even if you are,” Derek adds in with a low timbre to his voice. Peter has half a mind to challenge his nephew’s authority as McCall’s Right-Hand. How that arrangement even occurred under their noses Peter will never understand, but he must admit, the fools deserve each other.
“Theo’s not winning,” Lydia interjects, clearly having been likewise drawn into the commotion, before Stiles can speak for himself. Which is sadly for the best. The True Idiot is much more likely to listen when she speaks.
Leaning over to view the chess board better, Peter snoops into what has his boy so riled up. She’s correct, of course, Theo is not currently winning but after a moment of seething quiet, he thinks he finds the problem. Peter vocalizes a guess from his observations. “He’s letting Stiles win.”
“And it’s fucking insulting!” Stiles spits at his opponent, who continues to be the poster child of calm and collected.
“No, I’m not,” Theo says with lazy confidence. His steady heart rate as he says it only makes Peter believe further that the teen knows how to control his bodily responses.
“You’ve been throwing away your pawns and gave up your last knight to keep your queen in play. Your queen that’s going to be in check again in one more move anyway!” Stiles argues back.
The other boy simply shrugs. “I don’t like giving up my queen.” Then with a flip of some mystery switch, a smirk creeps onto Theo’s face as he leans back on his hands and keeps his sight locked with the warm amber that Peter is also oh so fond of. Theo, the performer that Stiles has warned them he’d be, has everyone’s attention now but only cares about Stiles’. “I’d rather lose the game than lose my queen.”
The two stare at each other intensely in the quiet that comes after. Maybe if there had been more to listen to then it wouldn’t have been as easy to hear Stiles’ heart skip a beat.
“I’m done playing with you,” Stiles declares apathetically after the pause became too long and Theo’s stare became too much.
The Spark rises from his place on the floor in a rather graceful way for him, waiting only long enough for Lydia to close her notes and stand with him, then stalks their way out of the loft without another word even as Scott tries to yell at him to be a good sport and play nice with their newest packmember.
“Child,” Peter hears the insult muttered under his nephew’s breath.
“Child that you keep leading on,” Peter bites back without raising his head from where he’s once again focusing on his reading.
He’s satisfied when he smells peachy embarrassment fill the room before Derek stomps his way out of the den and in the direction of the roof.
~~~
Three days later they have their monthly report night where the Pack comes together as a whole to discuss what supernaturals have been found and dealt with since the last meeting. It’s inevitable that their glorious child Alpha will reprimand someone for something he doesn’t believe is kosher. Fifty percent of those normally go to Stiles - even when Stiles wasn’t directly involved. But someone has to be the scapegoat because the Alpha’s precious baby Beta Liam or new best friend Isaac can’t be at fault.
The meetings used to be weekly, but for the sake of everyone’s sanity was changed to a month by month basis.
“Let’s take a ten-minute break, yeah?” Scott suggests to the Pack after an hour and a half of tedious talk. The room grunts and groans in agreement, and people begin to disperse. Peter remains observant on the stairs, as he typically does, but permits the mentioned baby Beta and Lydia to sit with him. He and the girl are pursuing to find a more suitably stable anchor for the boy to latch himself to. Admittedly, she is doing most of the leg work, but Peter isn’t being completely unhelpful in the endeavor. Stiles, Lydia, and especially Malia seem to enjoy the boy for one reason or another, and Peter has seen him circulating around the Stilinski and Martin households more and more often. Peter knows sees the signs and knows he has to start playing nice.
Among the overall chatter is an interruption of confusing proportions.
“Hey Bear, can you pass me a water?” Stiles asks from his comfy spot between Jackson and Malia on the couch; the Spark practically drapes himself over the former Kanima with the Coyote lounging nearly ontop of him. Jackson had complained at first but was then challenged by his boyfriend, sat with Mason as he explained to the curious human the differences between being a Beta and Alpha, to simply shove his packmates off if he wanted freedom so badly. The blonde grumbled to himself about horrible life choices, yet only pulled the Spark and Coyote closer.
There’s a paused silence. A bulk of the younglings look at each other in puzzlement, not knowing who the Spark was speaking to. Malia puts down the phone she was texting god knows who on and lifts herself from his chest to reach across the coffee table in front of the couch for the inquired beverage. She gets beaten by Theo, who snatches up the bottle she was aiming for.
The Were’ smirks as he approaches the tangle of bodies Stiles is sandwiched in, presenting the desired product. “There you go, Honey.” Stiles scrunches his up-turn nose at the name, meeting the other boy’s eyes with malice. In response to either his souring mood, scent, or combination of the two, Malia sinks herself firmly back onto the human’s chest and Jackson pulls the pair ever closer to himself. There is no doubt that Stiles has fierce protection. “Did you really think I wasn’t gonna remember?”
It’s unclear which nickname he is referring to - his own or Stiles’ - but their Spark is displeased either way.
Two heartbeats later, Stiles silently rips the offered bottle away from Theo’s hand and mumbles a bitter, “thanks.” There’s a sour grimace on his face every time he sips at the drink for the rest of the meeting.
~~~
Despite hanging off of McCall at every given opportunity, the agitation of finding out Stiles has found both an equal and a lover over the length of time he has been missing, has begun seeping into Theo's performance. Peter throws the boy a bone after a week of subtle misery.
“Do you always talk to people like they are dumb?” Theo recklessly asks the Banshee in the middle of yet another emergency meeting caused by, what the Gemini are predicting to be, a wayward Inipi in their territory.
“It helps when they aren’t dumb,” Lydia bites back without a break in the conversation. Her stance on Theo being invited to every Pack centered thing is made open for all to see. She stands by Stiles and his judgments. Which proves to piss Theo off further. Worse than seeing the very miniscule, very rare moments of intimacy Derek gives Stiles.
With all his wisdom, Peter thinks he understands the sentiment. Derek’s affection is touch and go at best. Lydia, on the other hand, has situated herself into the Sparks life in a way that no one can ignore. Her presence is permanent if she has any say in it, and she most definitely does. The true threat to Theo’s desire is evident.
“Lydia, be nice,” Scott chastises. Ironic since it was him she was insulting to start with; Theodore deciding to be his white knight and save the pathetic Alpha from the mean wailing woman.
“Everyone,” Kira corrects, a pointed look sent Scott’s way. “Everyone be nice.” The True Alpha immediately submits to the Kitsune with a sheepish nod. No one tells her to look just to her right to witness Isaac rolling his eyes at her good manners.
“Or you could stop being stupid,” Malia suggests. Her head lays in the Banshee’s lap, so perhaps her two cents in this argument isn’t as valid and unbiased, but it’s still pleasant for Peter to see his daughter and his Reds so joined at the hip. “At least I know I’m not as smart as Stiles and Lydia, so I stay out of the damn way.”
That gets a chuckle out of both Peter and Jackson. Ethan bites his lips to keep his smile to himself.
“That’s very pragmatic of you, but not all of us are simpleminded animals,” Theo says with a tad too much indignation for Peter’s liking.
Stiles’ as well.
“Watch your mouth, Raeken.”
“You watch it enough for the both of us.”
“Theo,” Peter calls, at last. Umpteen heads swivel at his wedging into the conversation. The consensus seems to be overall confusion on why the Hale would be speaking to Theo at all. A bizarre exchanging of words between two people who (presumably) have never interacted before. “You should have your hearing checked up on. I seem to recall advising you about - ”
“Peter, stay out of this,” Scott cuts off. Why, what a caring Alpha he has.
Ignoring McCall, as per usual, Peter finishes what he’s started. “All I am saying is that smart boys use their ears.” And to be even more obvious in his intention, Peter uses his pointer finger to cross an invisible X over the right side of his chest. It’s not subtle, nor is it meant to be, and both units of the Gemini throw a glare his way at the blatant aid he’s giving to an enemy. He’ll have to dance around their interrogation later. That’s fine for now, something he can live with at least. They just don’t understand what the aid is. How it will benefit them in the long term.
“Whatever,” Theo relents and diverts his attention away from the oldest Wolf in the room. Another thing Peter can understand. The boy can’t seem too closely acquainted with the former crazed Alpha, of course, if he wants to stay in the current Alpha’s good graces. Which he obviously does for one reason or another.
The meeting awkwardly gets back on topic as Scott steps back up on his soapbox, which is when Peter mentally checks out of the conversation altogether. The man doesn’t watch for the exact moment realization hits the young man’s face, but at some point during McCall’s preaching, there’s a down tick in Theo’s breathing. With satisfaction, Peter catches the shoulders loosen on the boy as he angles his head towards Stiles’ and Lydia’s side of the room. He sags in contentment with recognition, finally tuning in on the right things.
It’s hard to blame him for missing the obvious detail. Especially in a room with one too many people breathing and speaking and generally being alive. It is easier to pinpoint when separated out from the rest, but the opportunity for that is not readily available to the newest Werewolf yet.
No one had an answer for when this significant synchronization took place, perhaps the change was too moderate to catch in real time. However, nowadays, the difference is noticeable. Startling even if you don't know about their connection prior.
In all fairness, Peter hadn’t realized it either until he came home to his apartment one day to find two people sitting in his den when only hearing one very loud heart beating.
The Gemini share everything.
~~~
“Hey Derek,” the bubbly Kitsune excitedly bounces her way up to the born Werewolf. It’s amazing how much energy she still has after a whole morning of feral sparring. Liam is getting better with his control. “I was wondering if you and Stiles wanted to go on a double date with Scott and me to that new Italian restaurant on Main Street. I know Stiles has been dying to try it and I hear great things about their gelato! It'd be cute if we went as a group!”
Stiles isn’t around this morning, quickly shifting into afternoon, since McCall is newly claiming that the humans don’t have to train with the Supernatural others in the Pack. An uninformed and unintelligent thought at best - how has he, of all people, learned nothing from the loss of the young huntress? - but at least Lydia, Stiles, and Mason are having fun making mimosas somewhere, elsewhere.
Eventually, the stoic brick parading around like a person answers her, “Why would I want to do that?”
Just a few feet away, Isaac takes a break from chugging his water long enough to chuckle in amusement. Scott, right beside him, doesn’t even break away from his water as he flinches at the comment. Most interestingly, though, is the face of complete indifference Theo wears while intently watching the exchange.
How fake Peter recognizes the apathy it to be. That glint in his eyes is a near blaze.
Malia, shifted into her fur covered skin and rested at Peter’s feet so she could use his shoes as a rather expensive pillow, growls loud and long. There’s no particular person she’s aiming it at, all but Kira deserve it. No one registers her offense to the scene unfolding. They never really take her seriously in or out of full-shift. The angry Beta pup whom she'd been training with for the past two hours adds his own startling growl of irritation at the conversation. The boy's brows are knit together and his seashore scented anger begins to simmer, but does not explode.
Still, Isaac only stops his insolent behavior when Derek sends him an annoyed glance.
“Oh! I just thought . . .” the fox spirit stumbles over this landmine she has found. No one can blame her for backing away from it with slow, cautious movements. “Nevermind, I guess. Sorry.”
When she walks back over to her established group of friends Scott pats her on the back and pulls her in close, kissing her forehead in condolences. Isaac briefly rubs a comforting hand up and down her arm, clearly scenting his sad packmate at the same time. Liam shifts closest to her side and seemingly distances himself from the other boys. Theo solely gives her a good-natured, you-tired smile.
~~~
Peter doesn’t mention to anyone how the next night, while out in town doing some nondescript, nonlegal business, the sight he catches through a bay window on Main Street. Never speaks a word about Stiles sitting at a candle lit table across from Theo, only one of them wearing the right attire for the formal establishment. The Spark has a cute pout on his lips as he pokes at the pasta in front of him, but does not make any move to flee or defend himself. The teenage Werewolf chews at his baguette happily as his eyes never leave Stiles for a moment.
~~~
“Simply showing him what a terrible Alpha Scott is does nothing to prove that you can be a better one,” Peter says lightly. “After all, familiar demons are more tempting than charming unknowns.”
It’s been just over three months since the last time he tried to impart his wisdom unto the youth, and he’s shown varying degrees of what Peter would define as success from it.
This time, the Hale encounters the new threat/ally by chance and luck, stumbling upon him in the veiled night of the Preserve. There’s a hint of Isaac’s ivory scent on the dirty blond, so it’s likely that they’ve been on patrol together by Scott’s order. Not that Peter knows the patrol schedule. He’s not included.
He’s more likely to be what Scott patrols for.
“Still have no idea what the fuck you’re on about, old man,” Theo answers, sounding a bit disgruntled as he continues ducking under branches and stepping over roots without stopping to speak with his elder. To the teen Were’s credit, he hadn’t startled at Peter’s unannounced entrance, so he probably heard the Hale coming behind him.
“Must you continue to play the role of fool?”
“Do you have a couple of screws melted from the fire?”
Theo does stop abruptly then, turning to stare at the man directly after the insult leaves his mouth. The sheep act is gone. No one will believe Peter over the teen, so showing his Wolf is a non-risk to him in this circumstance. Baring some teeth while no one is around to witness it aside from another former monster. The boy doesn’t look particularly remorseful about what he’s said, yet not gleeful either. The older man schools his own features and gives away nothing of his thoughts at the offensive remark.
“Pity, I was beginning to like you too.” Peter forces a sigh. “It was like having my very own mini-me to guide.”
“I’m not you. I don't lose.”
It is said so adamantly Peter can only stare at Theo, this brief glimpse of the real Theo, studying every piece of that carefully sculpted mask he has flickering on and off in such a fragile moment. He has to wonder for a moment if said mask was built from greed or survival.
But Peter believes he already knows that answer, and there are other questions to be asked.
“Then who are you?”
This, apparently, is not what the other monster thought he would be challenged with.
Peter tilts his head in a mocking expression of thought. “If you are not me and you are not who Stiles remembers you to be, then Theodore, just who are you exactly? Who is hidden away under that good-boy persona you put on? You can have someone like Scott fooled, but not someone like me. Certainly not someone like the Gemini.”
He could purr at the dumbfounded doubt in those normally observant blue eyes, the boy clearly not prepared for Peter in this way.
“What the fuck are you going on about? Christ, should I warn Scott that we have to send you back to Eichen?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be too concerned even if you did. Stiles would come to my rescue again,” he smirks at the memory of his sweet Spark marching out of that Hell with Peter in hand and an extremely annoyed but resigned Alpha acting as their chaperone.
But this meaningless threat is proof that poor Theo is starting to feel backed into a corner.
Peter pounces.
“Dear pup,” he stalks one or two steps forward before Theo growls in a clear warning. “You can play this game if you wish, but at some point you will have to acknowledge that you and I? We are reflections of each other. Inverses depicting the same image. A boy ravaged by water and a man seared by fire, yet both scarred in far too similar ways to ignore. A born versus made predator, but equally thirst for control regardless. Ruined people transforming themselves into something uglier and unrecognizable, even to those we wish would recognize us.” He pauses for breath and dramatic effect. “I have done this dance you are performing, failed in the same ways you are. Fate has kindly placed a mirror before you. You'd be most wise not to scorn her or your reflection.”
Theo's chest rises and falls with effort, losing more than a bit of his cool during the course of Peter's monologue. Nevertheless, all he does is listen.
“You can still be salvaged,” Peter decides to end with, already maneuvering himself in the direction of his car hidden just past the tree's horizon. “You can be recognized again. It is not easy, but it is also possible. Consider your options carefully from this point forward.”
~~~
The One That Got Away
when ur free come to lydias house
Not Granny
As flattered as I am, you are both too young for me.
The One That Got Away
not like that creeperwolf
Not Granny
What would your father think?
The One That Got Away
on 2nd thought we dont want u here
~~~
Of course he still shows up.
Much to the disappointment of more teenage boys than he anticipated.
By the time that Peter strides into the pretty pink room, Ethan and Jackson stand off to the side of the girl’s mattress where she, Malia, and Stiles are all sprawled about. Lydia and Stiles are both sat up against her headboard, an actual school textbook placed in Lydia's lap. The brunette girl lays comfortably in the middle of the pair with one arm slung across Stiles' waist and a leg curled around Lydia's thighs. It's not the first time that an entire room goes bitterly silent at Peter's sudden arrival. Knowing himself, it will not be the last either.
“I was promised a foursome, not an orgy,” Jackson says, his stare trailing over Hale. “Especially not one with him.”
Peter would normally take offense to that if the feeling weren’t very much mutual. He hadn't thought his negging texts to ring so true to the actual conversation being had. Peter’s daughter and future son are in the room. He’s not an animal.
They all wait for something about this to make sense. All occupants of the space appear to be in different books, let alone different pages. Lydia is the exception, as she informs the rest of them the gap in knowledge they are missing. “The fastest way to get him here was the promise of a foursome between them and us,” she waves a manicured hand between Ethan and Jackson then between herself and Stiles. Her explanation is told so casually that Peter cannot blame how Stiles gapes at her. Malia simply snarls at her exclusion from these plans.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Stiles then turns to the other confusing portion. “And you said yes?” he asks Jackson and Ethan.
“Would you say no?” Ethan counters.
Finally closing his mouth, Stiles licks his lips with a squint in his eyes. Peter nearly laughs at how hard the boy’s brain is working to process this information.
“As long as I can I watch,” Malia jumps in with demands. She is understandably possessive of the Gemini and proves this by nipping gently at the side of Stiles' hip, making the boy yip a little in pure surprise. “I like watching Stiles and Lydia makeout by themselves.”
This gets the redhead to shut her book rather loudly and gives her undivided attention to her guests. The light dusting of pink on her cheeks compliments her lovely complexion. “Mal, we said we wouldn’t talk about that.”
“Why? It’s fun and hot. Plus it’s making Jackson smell jealous.”
“Truly my spawn,” Peter sighs in a fondness he’s surprised he still has. Even if it means getting a pretty pink pillow tossed in his direction.
“Now moving on,” the Spark announces loudly, gallantly attempting to get them back on track. “I called you guys here because something was left on my back porch last night.”
“Goddamn it,” Jackson groans, throwing his head back in exhaustion. “I thought I was getting laid, not enlisted.”
“I said we were moving on!”
“This is still a pleasure call, not business,” their Banshee amends Jackson's earlier comment as she helps the conversation actually move on. She lays her book down on her bedside table, untangling her legs from her comfortable seat to get up from the mattress. Stiles matches her movements on the opposite side of the bed. Malia huffs at the abandonment but flops back down on the bed by herself, starfishing in the extra available space. The Reds meet the other at the foot of the bed and face their company.
“I don't know if this really can be defined as pleasure,” Stiles amends her amendment, “but I don’t think it's a threat. My dad did when he found it on our welcome mat. Luckily I was home or he would have flagged down the rest of the Pack if this is some Wolf bullshit he didn’t understand.”
“Is it?” Peter prompts. He anticipates the answer but has some follow-up questions down this path of thought.
Even in all his research there’s sure to be things Stiles has missed about Werewolf culture. Seeing as Peter knows much more about so-called 'Wolf bullshit,' his presence here makes sense.
He’ll even accept Ethan’s need to be here for similar reasons.
But Jackson?
A Half Wolf that was only bit two years ago?
Peter knows that Jackson has proven himself to be more . . . tolerable since his Kanima incident. Turns out a stint with death calls for a little self-reflection in some cases. Unfortunately it didn’t result in a 180 in personality; more of a dialing down what was already there. Even that, though, has been enough to witness change. New demeanor, new friends, new values. After the Nogitsune was indefinitely purged from Stiles, Jackson was the one making daily, and on particularly rough days hourly, visits to the boy - not Scott. He was the first person to get the traumatized boy out of his house and into civilization again. Even Jackson's relationship with Lydia has since been uprooted, detangled, and born anew. The love is there between them, as it always has been, but it takes a softer, more familial shape this time. Both halves of the Gemini clearly favor him dearly. But, no matter how loyal the lizard is to the Reds, for which the oldest Hale is grateful for, Whittemore isn’t any brand of expert in the supernatural.
Lydia purses her lips at this question. “We believe it is.” When she ganders at the neatly put together work desk behind her, they all follow her gaze. There’s a metal box of some sort settled in the center of the workspace. Peter had glimpsed at it upon arrival but paid no further mind. The appearance of a fishing tackle box is an odd one for anyone’s bedroom, much less Lydia Martin’s. But given their style of life, such a box doesn’t spell disaster. Normally. “Just not the language we’re used to communicating in.”
All three invited male Wolves have a moment to look at each other in question before Peter takes the first step forward to see where this leads. Jackson and Ethan come up beside him as they all huddle close to the metal container. When Peter lifts a hand to pop open the lid, Stiles moves the rest of the way forward from the bed to smack the unassuming appendage away. The man gives him a deathly glower back.
“No touchy,” he wags a finger at Peter, “it’s mine.” He has half a mind to bite the finger off to prove a point. Obviously he doesn’t because he’s got too many plans in play for an impulse to muck it all up. And, he supposes, because he likes his new spawn too much to maim. He’ll simply just have to inform John about his son’s various sexual partners and how concerned Peter, as an adult, is for his health and safety.
Satisfied with his outlined petty revenge, the Wolf waves the same hand in gesture for Stiles to proceed then. He grins in delight at Peter’s submission, not knowing his Safe-Sex riddled future.
Stiles lifts the cover away from the box.
The smell hits them first. It’s rustic and rotten and putrid. It even makes someone like Peter close his eyes at the intense influx of odor. Jackson starts to gag and Ethan curses as he pulls away. Stiles doesn’t so much as flinch at the scent, most probably prepared for it this time around; he drops the metal top down with the inside of it facing the ceiling. Malia is watching in fascination from her view among the pillow cluster. Lydia leans against the wooden borders of her bed frame, assessing what their reactions are.
Then Peter spots what’s inside.
He truly isn’t surprised, but that doesn’t mean he’s thrilled by it.
A heart.
A cold, lifeless heart.
A cold, lifeless, rotted heart.
A quick one, two tap to the metal lid brings attention to something further that Stiles is poking at. A piece of scotch tape with sharpie written over it reads:
For Peter, Jackson, and my Queen
The tape holds up three official looking loose pieces of document paper.
“So it’s not just yours,” Peter grits. Doesn’t matter whether it’s a heart or an IOU, Peter will take this chance to be petty.
“It was left at my door.” Fine. Peter will accept that answer, even if it will not stop him from airing some dirty business with the Sheriff.
“Queen?” Jackson teases in Stiles’ direction, despite having to clear his throat again immediately after due to the inhalation of the remaining stench, clearly catching on that the last one was meant to mean him.
“The most powerful piece on the chess board,” Peter interjects before Stiles could explain or defend the name. A memory from almost four months ago now dragging its way to the forefront of his brain. “The piece dear Theodore finds far too valuable to sacrifice.”
“The one piece he refuses to give up even if it costs him the game,” Stiles confirms.
“So Theo got a heart for the three of you?” Ethan asks more out of confusion than clarification. “Why? Whose even is it?”
Peter hums along with that sentiment. Examining the papers taped to the top of the cover, the oldest wolf begins to understand precisely why this gift is meant for the three of them.
“It’s Gerard’s,” Peter answers, but he’s a little breathless by it. The paperwork is for a nursing home describing the ill conditions of a sickly old man with no family listed. There isn’t a very long list of geriatric patients they personally know.
Ethan doesn’t appear any less flabbergasted by this information. Jackson begins to look a little green in the cheeks, like someone had made him swallow the heart whole. In contrast, Stiles and Lydia carry the same air around them: wary interest.
“Theo gave us Gerard Argent’s heart.”
~~~
The bloody gift is disposed of not long after the unboxing. As sentimental as the gesture was, they figured it was more symbolic of the true gift - the riddance of a prevailing threat and haunting ghost. The teens handed the box over to the eldest man with the expectation that he knew the best places for it never to be found again. Of course they were right, but Malia’s joke of Peter wanting to keep it in his prized library was uncalled for. And he will never admit to the passing consideration he gave the idea.
Peter will admit, though, that he is impressed by Theo’s choice of evidence. The bloody, tangible proof that he’s willing and wanting to protect Stiles and his Pack. Testament that he’s a better fit for Scott’s role in Stiles’ life.
The setback and risk of said exorcisms to past demons is that Stiles now has ammunition against the newest packmate. A packmate he’s still not all too cozy with. There was no signature with the gift, but if the boy truly began to investigate Theo's involvement, Peter is certain he'd find it. The ball is in Stiles’ court, and the Spark seems more ready to chuck said ball at the Werewolf’s head than play the game.
So Peter makes a little visit to the Stilinski household the later that same night. His wisdom shouldn’t be limited to Theodore, after all.
~~~
“Sorry, I’m not accepting strays at this time.”
This is Stiles’ first reaction to finding Peter relaxing on his bed when he gets out of the shower. The older man is nonchalantly reading through a random comic book that he found laying around on the floor upon arrival. It speaks volumes to their progress with each other that the start of a conversation with Peter taking over the teen’s room and the boy only wearing a damp towel wrapped around his waist is not outlandish.
The pale boy goes on to say, “My dad’s room is down the hall and to the left. He’ll be home in about an hour; just enough time for you to get the candles and rose petals ready.”
“Oh my, is that permission for me to court your father?”
“What? No! No, I was giving you permission to bang. You aren't allowed to make me and Malia siblings. I refuse to be a lame porn genre. I can’t have lost my virginity to my stepsister. So keep your emotions away from my father, please and thank you.”
He’s tempted to make a remark about how he’ll have to settle for ravaging the boy’s father with no intent to wed, and make a dishonest man out of John. And he will. At a later date that is more appropriate.
He’s unfortunately here for business, not pleasure. Breaking his Spark’s heart is hardly pleasant but it’s a necessary evil.
“Sorry to say, but I have come seeking sanctuary for the night. My nephew has brought another one of his whores to the loft and despite how ‘creepy’ you’ve all claimed me to be, I’d rather not have to listen in,” Peter informs. He hates how the boy still flinches at Derek’s unfaithfulness. Hates even more how Stiles’ usual warm herbal tea scent mixes with honeysuckle hurt. “Why are you all by your lonesome?”
“Unlike you fucking Wolves, I do enjoy my privacy,” the boy takes no time to quip back as he angrily opens his dresser to acquire some clothes. He roughly throws his clothing around in the drawer like he’s deep driving for something specific. “Why are you here?”
“Partly to inform you of how your dear mate is a bastard, but mostly because you are the most enjoyable person available at this time. Which leads me back to my own question: why are you really alone?”
Stiles unnarrows his suspicious eyes so he can roll them at the man’s persistence. He knows by now that Peter is better at seeing through him than the vast majority. Instead of answering, though, he takes the time to actually pull out and put on an oversized hoodie and baggy shorts that aren't all that baggy on him - Peter swears to recall the articles of clothing belonging to Ethan and Malia respectively - out of the mess he has made.
“Stiles,” Peter chides right as the boy as he slams the drawer back shut with reorganizing it.
A disgruntled sigh of frustration is let out while Stiles quickly and roughly grabs all other comics littering his floor. Though the comic in Peter's hands was definitely held by Stiles most recently, the room still ever so faintly smells of Liam, Mason, and Kira. “Scott was supposed to come over and have a bro night with just the two of us but canceled on me at the last minute. Didn’t even give me a reason why this time.” Slowing down his cleaning process, Stiles gives Peter a once-over. “Why are you helping Theo?”
Peter smirks at the sharp tongue and sharper wit. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t expecting this moment to happen sooner or later. Of course, Stiles would be the one to realize what he is doing.
He gives his own pause this time around and Stiles lets him have it until the floor is spotless. That apparently is too much time. “Peter.”
What would be the fun in giving up the mystery so early on? “What makes you think I’d help any of your peanut gallery?” Peter asks as he flips through the pages of the worn out Batman comic remaining in his possession.
“Theo’s not mine,” Stiles counters quickly. The Wolf peeks up from the book to raise an eyebrow at the too speedy protest, but the teen continues on without acknowledging it. “I would throw this at you if I wasn’t convinced you’d do something with it,” the kid grumbles as he tosses his forgotten dirty towel into his hamper.
Hands in the pockets of the hoodie, Stiles approaches the bed with a lazy weariness. Standing at the edge of the mattress, he makes the more thoughtful response of: “You do shit just to mess with Scott all the time. Hell, I think you do it out of your own boredom sometimes. But even you have to know that playing with Theo is dangerous entertainment.”
Going back to the paneled pictures of Robin fighting Two Face, Peter decides to answer his Spark honestly.
“You have challenged feral wolves, cured murderous lizards, withstood even more murderous Alphas, outsmarted twisted Druids, and survived demonic possession of the trickster kind,” he stops to let that sentiment settle in. Allows Stiles to consider his own strength. “This Theo, whoever and whatever he may be or plans to become, is no threat to you, my dear. He is a child in comparison to what you have faced.”
Another pause so that he can flip to the next page. Two Face has three of his goons gang up on the Boy Wonder so he can make his solo getaway with the money. How unfair.
“However, that loyalty of yours? The one that causes you to bend to others' submission and conform that brilliant mind of yours into black and white? That is your weakness, and I fear one day soon your demise.”
“Not surprising you’d be the one to dislike loyalty.”
It is a low and relatively false blow, and they both know it. They both also know that the Spark only says it because he is feeling defensive. And he is only defensive when he has no facts, no truths, to counter with. Backed into the corner by ugly truth.
“Is it though?” Peter challenges, finally gazing up at Stiles. “Really, is it?”
What loyalty did he have towards Laura? The girl who knew he had suffered but survived. The girl who abandoned him in some useless human hospital to stew in his own mind. If she had any mercy, she’d have killed him before she left Beacon. But of course she hadn’t, that would mean she’d have one less Beta to anchor her Alpha to.
And Derek? He had followed his sister without looking back. The night he slashed Peter’s throat, while justified, only proved whatever warm feelings they held for each other were nothing but ashes buried along with the rest of their family. Whatever their relationship, friendship even, had once been was burned away.
Scott? Does he even need to list his reasons to not be loyal to that delusional boy?
None of this means Peter holds no loyalty.
He can tell from the way Stiles chews at the inside of his cheek that he is equally aware of this.
“If in an emergency, who do you call for help, dear boy?” Peter prompts to further his point. Because Peter has been on the receiving end of those calls one too many nights, while the True Alpha had remained clueless until the situation was long since handled. “Truly, who do your instincts scream for you to trust?”
When Stiles breaks eye contact to watch as he shuffles his own feet, Peter turns his attention back to the comic in front of him.
“Theo is a child but I think we’d prefer a still developing child over a false prophet unwilling to pay the price for peace. Or worse yet, ostracizing those who have to pay the price. If the day comes when you make myself and the rest of your Pack,” Peter emphasizes the word because there is a stark difference between who is in Scott’s Pack for the True Alpha and who is in it simply because Stiles is, “bury you because of one unfaithful and undeserving Alpha, then I swear on Mother Moon there will be nothing left of that boy to resurrect. And I would hate to put Melissa through the pain of losing two sons.”
~~~
The month passes faster than Peter would have liked if for no other reason than because it’s time for another Pack meeting. Having it land on the night after a full moon is the extra mountain ash to the wound.
This time around, though, the event is held at the Stilinski house which makes the experience marginally more tolerable. It smells the most of Pack. Plus it has John, a perk Peter takes advantage of by showing up at 8 a.m. sharp only to feign ignorance about being told the meeting is for 8 p.m. Not that the rest of them were much better. Malia came with Peter, so she’s truly no better than him, and Lydia appeared only an hour and a half after that. Liam and Mason came knocking, hand in hand, a little before noon. A surprise to everyone except the star twins who welcome the boys in with promises of study help and free snacks. Ethan showed up around 2 p.m. with Jackson arriving not long after.
Now, at 7:55 p.m., Peter sits on the armrest of the chair John occupies in the living room, watching the rest of the official McCall goons file in. It’s unsurprising to find that Derek is the last to shuffle in, dragging his feet upon entering the den of his ex-flame. His eyes never once meet the Sheriff's gaze, tail tucked between his legs.
There’s a delay to start, seeing as Stiles has been muddling around upstairs in his room. Scott had tried to begin the meeting, but John quickly pointed out that his son wasn’t present. The True Alpha had gone a little pink at his blatant obliviousness - missing how his supposed best friend wasn’t present in his own home. For such a long period of time, moreover. Their Spark had disappeared right after Theo made his appearance, the new Wolf taking his dedicated station beside Scott but sure enough flashing a broad grin in the pale boy’s direction first.
And while waiting, Peter's excitement and curiosity rise hand-in-hand. His main tip off that some fun is about to be had is the relaxed way John watches and interacts with the room. His call-out of Scott was intentional, and his keen but not uncaring eye on Theo is telling. The Stilinski’s have something up their sleeve, and Peter has never been more attracted to the man than in this moment. His scent of oaky anticipation is intoxicating.
The divine scent doubles when Stiles rejoins their Pack. Descending the stairwell, the boy has Peter’s rapt attention right from the start, but his return notably has several people sitting up straighter.
“Sorry guys,” Stiles apologizes to the room at large. He fidgets with something in his hold, held in both hands like an offering. “I found this the other day and been meaning to give it back.”
Taking the last step, what he’s cradling comes into full view.
A box.
Not metal, but cardboard. From the appearance, it would be to a pair of sneakers that would no longer fit Stiles. The edges of every corner are withered and the cover bulges at the top from how stuffed it is inside.
Carrying with a specific kind of care, Stiles enters the room with the mystery box. There are a few knowing glances sent around the space when he continues to walk past everyone else in the room and right up to Theo. The Were stationed himself in the background for this gathering, standing behind Scott and next to Isaac. The curly-haired boy makes a face at the sudden proximity, but Theo remains smarmily smiling back at the new found attention he is receiving.
“The treehouse fell four years ago after a pretty bad storm,” Stiles says. Theo’s Casanova facade slips momentarily, but he waits silently for the Spark to go on. “I collected as much shit as I could, but most of it was either missing or too damaged to keep.”
He hands over the beat up shoebox to Theo.
Glancing at it then meeting Stiles’ eyes unwaveringly, Theo takes the offered gift.
“Some of it is yours, I think. Some of it might be mine, but I don’t really care to keep it. But it’s mostly Tara’s things.”
“Kid, why didn’t you tell me the treehouse fell?” John asks from the chair. “I would have helped you get it back up.”
“What treehouse?” Mason pipes up, confused. Mason, being the true human sidekick, makes himself useful by reminding some of the more veteran teens that not everyone has context for what they are talking about. He must think this is one of those instances where he and Liam are the only ones out of the loop on something.
So it is all the more surprising when John answers the question. “Me and Will, Theo and Tara’s dad, put together a treehouse for Tara’s twelfth birthday. We had it set up a little past the Raeken property line, in the preserve but not too far out.” With a bit of fondness, John gives Stiles a soft grin. “The three of you would disappear up there for hours. I remember having to threaten all of you down on multiple occasions.”
As much as this information does answer the initial question, it also earns itself more questions. Including from Peter. Reassuring to know he isn’t the only one unaware of how integrated the Stilinskis and Raekens once were.
“Tara was my babysitter when mom was in the hospital and dad was working doubles to pay the new wave of medical bills,” Stiles explains to the confused majority. “I used to spend full days with the Raekens.” He looks over to his father and smiles appreciatively. “I know you would’ve helped patch it back up, dad. Thanks.” He turns back to Theo and their gazes meet with a new intensity. “But I didn’t think someone was going to remember his promise.”
Peter, from his front row view, gets a good gander at Theodore’s face as he stares at Stiles.
Smitten.
That’s the most ample word it can be broken down to. There is lust and adoration and devotion and desperation and pure want screaming in those cool blues of his. Peter has little doubt that if Stiles applied the littlest bit of pressure at this moment, Theo would be willing to bend him over or get bent over in front of absolutely everyone. Damn any and all plans he has laid.
“Of course I remember.”
“Good.”
No one seems ready to start the meeting until the answer to whatever is inside the box. From the anxious dread on Scott’s face, you would think it’s another pipebomb. Being a little dazed seems excusable given the circumstances, so no one blames Theo for holding his breath while opening the cardboard.
There’s a scattering of miscellaneous, day-to-day items inside. A couple of photos, hair ties, a worn down tennis ball with sharpie writing, nail polish, CDs, and smaller things Peter can’t make out. The top photograph is the only one he can see clear enough to distinguish the subjects. The backdrop is a lake nearby Beacon Peter believes he’s visited once or twice before. On a peer, three young pre-teen boys linking arms together and smiling at the camera. Two of the three boys have buzzed haircuts with the third having wet, floppy hair pushed out of his eyes.
Theo rustles through the stuff, smiling down at some of it and looking startled by others of it. After checking the front and back of every CD - with and without a case - he stops exploring the box. He looks up in time for Stiles to pull out another CD from his back pocket. The Spark waves it around in the air like it’s a tantalizing temptation.
“Oh, can’t forget about this one, right? The one she would play it every time she picked us up from school.” Theo reaches out to grab the ordinary CD. “Oh, no,” Stiles moves his hand and therefore the disk away from Theo’s reach. “This we have shared custody of.”
The Wolf smiles lopsidedly regardless of his confusion; he’s enjoying Stiles’ new found attention either way. “Do we now?”
Stiles adopts his own smug smile. “Yup! She did leave it to me after all.”
“Only because you'd get your license first. You two were always conspiring against me,” Theo laughs. “But, yeah, I guess technically, she did. So does that mean I get it on weekends or weekdays?”
“I was more thinking you could stop by whenever you wanted to listen to it.”
Now Theo looks like he wants Stiles to ask him to bend over because he will. At this point, Peter wouldn’t be surprised if the Were’ got on all fours and rolled over to show his belly. Normally, if the situation involved any other pair, the older Wolf would find it purely pathetic. And he still does, but he’s also satisfied.
Stiles has himself a dutiful pursuer.
Ignoring the abnormality of the entire incident, Stiles decides the conversation is done. Pivoting on his heels, he swings himself around and marches back to the couch where he slots himself where there is little room left between Lydia and Malia. The couple squawk at his unexpected weight landing on them but accommodate even if it's with a huff.
“So, anyway,” Stiles claps his hands and directs his full attention to Scott. “The meeting!”
~~~
“Sure, not like I’ve been right almost every time something bad happens around this nightmare of a town, but sure,” Stiles says with forced casualty in response to whatever dumb thing Scott has said.
Peter has no idea what. His attention lies somewhere more productive than whatever useless squabble the duo are taking part in for the past twenty minutes. Manicuring Malia’s left hand as Lydia polishes the right is far more important. Mostly to his pride, which the Banshee challenged by saying he’d have been a terrible girl dad. He’s not particularly as skilled as a feminine natural like her, but he thinks his efforts are far from terrible. And the Coyote is merely happy to be in their spotlight - she is very much his kin.
The others are scattered around the loft. Interest level in the conversation ranges from barely paying attention (Jackson, Ethan, Malia and Isaac) to nervously watching the war rage (Kira, Liam, and Theo).
Then there’s Derek, who apparently wants part in the battle.
“Stiles, stop it,” his nephew interjects into the dialogue as a biased third-party. Peter will never understand how that bias is in Scott’s favor. “It’s starting to get pathetic. Just listen to - ”
Stiles interrupts right back. “What exactly makes me more pathetic than you?”
And suddenly the air in the open-space room is taut with tension. A fight between Stiles and Scott is old news. Scott will whine about disrespecting his authority, and Stiles will eventually relent to nostalgia’s power. A fight between Stiles and Derek? Two of the most Attack-First-Ask-Questions-Later members of the Pack? That gets Peter to cap the black nail polish in his possession and focus. Lydia keeps painting, but those intelligent eyes track the interaction through thick strawberry blonde lashes.
Interest levels escalate to raised hackles (Jackson, Ethan, Malia and Isaac) and bracing for impact (Kira, Liam, and Theo).
At first Derek seems surprised by the question, forehead scrunching up and lips slightly parted, but then the older Wolf replaces that with a sneer. “You want a list?”
“Yes,” Stiles says emphatically, taking a step forward to get in the Wolf’s space. Self-preservation always be damned. “It wasn’t a rhetorical question. I want the list. Give me all the reasons why I’m pathetic.”
Scott, the useless and inefficient peacekeeper he is, attempts to placate the fight. “Alright, let’s not do this, guys. We’re Pack, we shouldn’t be saying this type of stuff to each other.”
Stiles is having none of it. “No, no. If Hale wants to fuck around then he should be ready to found out what talking shit gets him.” Derek glares back at the Spark, but proving that normal human communication is not his forte, he remains wordless on the challenge.
“Yeah, Derek,” baring his own teeth like the wild creature Peter loves him to be, Stiles issues his own list. “I talk too much. I’ve known that since I was fucking nine. But when your parent is too sick to hold a conversation, you learn how to talk enough for the both of you so she doesn’t feel bad or lonely for it.
“I’m also a clumsy, tactless loudmouth. So sorry that not all of us were gifted with animal reflexes and brains that can focus on one thing for more than fifteen minutes. I’ve had to put up with me for my entire life, you think I don’t know these things about myself? I’m annoying, yes, but I'm not fucking stupid. I manage my faults the best I can. At least I own my shit.
“You, though? You, Derek Hale, with trauma the size of Mount Rushmore and emotional capacity of a goldfish, are Adonis perfection, right? Even though we all know your uncle prefers me over you eleven times out of ten, your cousin barely even knows who you are, and I text Cora monthly which isn’t much but from what she tells me it’s more than you do. No, you are absolutely faultless, that’s why you’re always surrounded by loved ones.” The growl that Derek bellows is a warning for Stiles to stop now. Their boy has never been keen at heeding warnings. “I might be spastic and annoying, but at least I’m not all alone.”
The next moment happens in an instant.
The Beta’s claws are out and, with only an angered roar as forewarning, are aimed at the perceived threat.
It’s frighteningly incredible to witness a boy you’ve seen stumble over his own two feet and face plant directly into the bowl of mac and cheese, stand tall with earned confidence against a raging Beta Werewolf. Doesn’t blink at the claws descending to his face.
Peter isn’t fast enough.
Even more incredible is the close-call of a catch Theo makes, gripping Derek’s wrist with his own nails extended and golden-eyes flaring at how extremely close the Hale has gotten to Stiles’ golden eyes.
“Enough!” Scott Alpha roars despite the action having already passed. “That is enough! Theo let Derek go! Derek, apologize to Stiles. And Stiles, apologize to Derek. We are Pack! We don’t fight each other like this.”
“Maybe some of us shouldn’t be Pack then,” Derek spits through fangs that won’t go away, using old intimidation tactics against the resident Spark. “Find someone else’s bed to worm your way into from now on.” He rips his hand out of Theo’s restraint. The younger boy doesn’t put up a fight against it, but rumbles his displeasure.
Ever unflinching, Stiles doesn’t miss a beat. “Thanks, Bear.”
“Anytime, Honey.”
~~~
“Do I not give you enough attention in the waking hours?” Peter asks as he answers his phone. He keeps his page in the book currently across his lap, doing some light reading before bed. Nine o'clock at night is hardly curfew hours but he has to tease his Spark somehow.
“. . .”
When the line remains eerily silent Peter tosses his book aside. He sits up in his bed and listens to the disturbed ambiance coming through the receiver. Stiles’ breathing is labored and his heartbeat faster than. Yet Stiles still doesn’t utter a word.
A silent Stilinski is a troubled one.
“Sweetheart?” Peter probs in the gentlest voice he’s used in quite some time. He’s already climbing off his mattress and finding the closest set of clothes to throw on; prepared to run to wherever his distressed Spark is.
By the time Stiles finds his voice, a fraction of his normal vibrato, the Wolf is grabbing his keys and out the door with bare feet.
“I - ,” the voice crack breaks whatever little of Peter’s heart remains, “I think I need help.”
“Okay darling,” Peter continues to use the gentle voice he hasn't recognized since before the fire. “I’m on my way. I’ll be right there, okay? Do not move a muscle.”
Hopefully Stiles won’t question how Peter knew where to find him. The tracker installed on his phone was fully worth all the time and deceit.
~~~
They must stop meeting like this.
Beacon Hill’s True Alpha isn’t going to be fond of the fact that Peter and Stiles are once again the first ones to stumble upon a monstrous dead body. Though, from the way Stiles stares in blank horror at the already sour stenched corpse, Peter can assume he had witnessed the transition from living to dead.
Hypocrisy awaits them in the near future. McCall will preach forgiveness and second chances til the sun sets but the stupid child is equally ready to point a finger at those who have wronged him directly. People like Peter. And even if no one is willing to acknowledge aloud, people like Stiles.
Peter ignores that impending future. He ignores the speared boy with layers of molars as sharp as knives lining his agape mouth. He ignores everything aside from the trembling survivor calling him.
He offers his hand for the young man to take, getting him up on his feet. They aren’t staying here. Two other mercury leaking corpses have disappeared, bodies barely cold, without a trace. Not enough to constitute a pattern, but Peter places his bets on disposal not being an issue.
Lydia has been spamming their cellular devices since before Peter left his apartment; asking for someone, anyone, to tell her what’s going on and why Stiles is in pain. He sends her a message from Stiles’ phone, informing her that they are on their way. It appeases but does not reassure her.
One glance at the boy and anyone could tell what’s running through that insecurely clever brain of his.
“He fell,” Peter states under no uncertain terms. He doesn’t even have the full story from Stiles, only a rushed, hushed retelling of the basics. But the story remains the same. The thing actively attempting to eat the Spark alive fell.
“I kicked him.”
“Because he was attacking you.” The Wolf leaves no room for error. This is not his boy’s fault. “I don’t know about Scott, but I personally rather have a kabobbed threat than a mutilated packmate.”
Stiles can’t meet his eyes and that’s fine. He escorts him out of the building and away from the damage.
On the way to the Jeep - leaving Peter’s car there because the man rather be in charge of driving and if McCall jumps to some ill made conclusions from finding the Lambo instead of Roscoe at the scene of a crime then so be it - Peter catches a scent.
No matter how faint and brief it may be, it’s fresher than the rest of the stale library that now stinks of blood, fear, and dust.
It’s a scent that Peter has recently become familiar with.
One that he’s going to tear apart come dawn.
~~~
Someone in the Pack caught wind of the library mishap.
Luckily, Peter made the right bets. No cadaver was found among the crime scene. Only blood, inhuman bodily chemicals, and that same scorched scent. Never time for peace, Scott summons the Pack to the loft. What for? Peter has no idea. It presents no new information to them.
Peter himself is the only one privy to a Blue’s Clue in this case.
Neither Stiles nor Lydia will be attending today. He doubts that will go over well with the True Alpha. Last he saw, Natalie was bringing orange juice and a plate of peanut covered apple slices to the Gemini cuddled under the plentiful blankets and pillows atop Lydia’s bed - Stiles’ shoulder wound disinfected and wrapped. Peter suspects Malia won’t be in attendance either. Without needing to see it for himself, he can imagine his daughter curled up in her Coyote skin at the end of the shared bed as a shield for her anchors.
Luckier yet, the first person at the meeting beside Peter is the exact Wolf he needs to put under his boot.
“Hey,” Theo approaches Peter casually. “Any idea what this is - ”
“Care to explain to me why you were at the library last night?”
He’s smart enough to not answer immediately, adorning this mask of confusion as he determines his next action. Assess what Peter knows. Decide what he can lie about. Admirable. Lying must not be in his favor since his conceited confidence turns on instead.
“Not really, no,” the smartmouth replies.
A smartmouth is not what Peter finds endearing regarding this matter. Hence why he pins the twerp to the concrete wall of the loft, holding him there by hammering his forearm into the chest of the younger man. Infuriatingly, this doesn’t get Theo to stop smugly smiling.
If Peter killed him right here, right now, McCall would declare war on the eldest Hale. Malia and the Gemini wouldn’t stand for that. It’s a messier, more involved way to accomplish what Peter wants out of Theo. To be the straw that breaks the canine’s back.
Peter can do it without Theo.
Unsheathing his claws, the former Left-Hand slams his elbow into the younger boy’s Adam's apple to then dig those nails into the side of his neck, ready to slice those fragile vocal cords wide open.
“Then how about why you were close enough to smell the terror, hear the screaming, and witness Stiles fighting for his life against a fellow predator. Felt some camaraderie with it? Hmm? Was that walking mutation your friend?” There. There it is. The true Theo gets some limelight, uncontrollably flashing his golden Beta eyes in caged anger despite the everlasting smirk. “Or were you too afraid to put yourself between another monster and an ally? Which was it, cowardice or endorsement that you allowed it to rip Stiles’ flesh from his body. It'll be a miracle if the bite on his shoulder doesn’t become infected.”
“I was supposed to be there first,” Theo grits out. A hint of fang surrounding the words. Other than the palm that wraps around Peter’s bicep, Theo doesn’t struggle.
“Yet you weren’t and my Spark nearly lost his life because of that failing,” Peter rumbles, tightening his grip before relenting. He moves his claws to tilt the blond’s chin-up, a very familiar action to him. “You’re batting out of your league, little Wolf. You haven’t the slightest notion how lucky you are that I like you. I’ve killed for far, far less.”
Shoving himself off the kid, Peter smooths out his clothes for a more presentable fashion. “This isn’t that type of game,” is his final warning. “You don't have two more chances. You put another person part of my Pack in danger and I’ll wipe you clean from the board.”
~~~
He did not expect his threat to be challenged so soon.
But all the glorious ways to rip the McCall Alpha to less than atoms fills Peter’s mind as he watches Stiles hack up water from his lung's, courtesy of the kelpie that had previously drowned the Spark.
This wasn’t supposed to be a life-threatening fight - Stiles and Lydia had already found the spell appropriate to return the corporal river horse back to a state of peacefully calm waters. The wolves simply had to act as a distraction while the Spark completed the right ritual that ruefully involved him having to be in the water as well.
That was the agreed upon plan. Scott, Isaac, Theo, Ethan, Kira, and Peter were supposed to be the bait while Stiles completes the ritual.
Mediation officially means nothing to their Alpha, though, as he was the one to pull the Spark out of the magical procedure they had set up prior to luring the algae infested equine here and pushed him into the fray of battle. An animal, no matter their state of matter it seems, knows how to access their threats. Of course, it went after the one packmember powerful enough to put it to rest.
The Kelpie rammed itself into Stiles, catching and containing the boy in the rippling tides of its mane, then submerging itself and him into the depths of the Beacon Hills river.
There’d barely been time to blink before Theo had dove in right after the human Spark. Before the older wolf could even consider doing so himself, the Kelpie returns to the surface without sign of the other two sunk boys. It whines and charges for poor little Isaac next.
They should consider themselves lucky that Peter has never been good at mediation. When he pulls the pistol out from its hiding spot in his belt, he wastes no time firing off three rounds into the raging animal. Christopher, for all his talk of being out of the game, readily handed over the right ammo to Peter. Silver bullets - not just in name this time. Truly ironic.
Even with slightly off aim (that he’ll never admit to aloud), the horse falls apart with a horrendous squealing noise and washes away in a sewage puddle at Isaac’s feet. He hears his Alpha’s displeased voice saying something or other, but he’s more focused on the sunken boys who resurface at the water's edge. One gasping for breath, the other not.
Holstering his gun once more, Peter rushes to pull the teens out of the river. Kira, a former lifeguard at her old town’s local pool, had immediately shoved Peter and Theo out of the way to do chest compressions on the not-breathing human.
It took a heartbeat more than Peter would prefer for the boy to startle back to life, with excess water springing free from his lungs. The minute Stiles ceased purging liquid, Theo grabbed him again, clutching him close to the chest.
Peter’s Wolf is demanding more blood than just the manic water horse’s muck. He wants to slash the useless Alpha in the face, to bury his claw wrist deep into the idiot's stomach, to feed Scott his own disgusting guts.
Since resurrection, thoughts like these are easier to sweep away.
“You murdered it!”
They are much harder to fend off when the potential victim is so killable.
“To clarify,” Peter says in a dangerous tone that even this dumb Alpha should hear the warning in, “your supposed best friend since diapers nearly died from your own incompetence and your main concern is about how I killed the thing attempting to end his life?”
“The spell he used was hurting it!” Scott says in an effort to justify his actions.
“You nearly got him killed!” Ethan shouts back, rounding his way from the other side of the lake, and pointing to the ghostly pale Stiles.
“Well, if the magic he was using wasn’t - ”
Ethan, lips twisting in disgust and vision lit like the warning sign McCall should see them as, surges forward to get in the Alpha’s face. “Do not give me that bullshit, Scott. You are prioritizing morals over your Pack, and we’ve seen what happens when a leader thinks his Betas are expendable.”
Alpha red flashes back and there is a moment where Peter readies his claws for another fight. He’d be more than willing to get some Alpha blood on his hands tonight.
The tension gets interrupted by new people entering into the clearing. The b-team for this mission were supposed to wait on the outskirts of the woods for thirty minutes before coming to check on them in case the worse happened. Or come charging in if the Banshee waiting for them screamed before the allotted thirty minutes.
Lydia slides along the Preserve floor, a move that will surely dirty and stain her leggings, to kneel in front of Stiles. She grabs his face with both her hands and lifts it so can look at him properly as he regains the air he was deprived of. Her face is nearly as wet as his but for completely different reasons.
“I felt a scream,” her voice chokes out brokenly. Peter could almost swear that her hazel eyes flash with something darker. “I felt it building up.”
Theo, still wrapped securely around Stiles’ back, rumbles at her words and pulls Stiles impossibly closer to his chest.
“If you die, I die,” the girl says as though she couldn’t foresee any other outcome. The Spark tries to shake his head and voice an argument against her words, but she grabs his face tight in both hands to stop the dismissive actions and hisses out, “Yes. I do. Losing you will kill me.”
And Peter thinks she might be right on a level more than emotional. Stiles and Lydia are too intimately connected at this point. There is a chance that with Stiles’ death the Banshee and her magic may collapse in on herself.
Her sights turn on the Alpha leader. “You caused this.”
Ethan growls in agreement, still only a foot away from Scott, and his nails extend as Lydia comes from her crouch to advance on the True Alpha with him. Scott only shows off his ruby red authority as a response, a threat that the Banshee takes no warning in as she gets in his face. Isaac lets his claws and canines drop at the sight of his Alpha being threatened, but Malia snarls in return at him as she gets in the Beta’s way. Kira puts one hand on her katana but makes no move to unsheathe it or even really hold it properly, clearly debating whether she wants to be a part of this domestic Wolf dispute. Theo still does not release Stiles from his grasp, but his own growl can be heard as he clutches to the boy tighter; Jackson puts himself in the way between the two and the rest of the fight. Peter remains where he’s been, but there’s a glance traded with Derek who’s been characteristically quiet all this while - silent as his supposed mate drowns at his Alpha’s incompetence. They flash their equally blue-eyes at one another. Derek’s never been able to beat him in an actual fight. That certainly wouldn’t change now.
They outnumber Scott’s loyal puppies. They could, and would, win this fight.
“I want to go home.”
All attention returns to the soaked Spark.
“I want to go home,” Stiles declares again. His voice is a gratingly hoarse version of what his normal tone. “Now.”
Lydia, never having taken her eyes off of the Alpha, continues to stare down the pitiful excuse for a leader for five steady heartbeats longer. Then, as quick as a whip, she turns away from him and strides back the way she came. Ethan snarls one last time before taking a few steps backward slowly and only turning his back safely to watch the Banshee’s next move.
All sharp appendages disappear once more after that.
“Fine,” she concedes. A hard thing for her to do but a harder, near impossible, thing for her is ignore a request from her injured other half. Though it’s clear that she’s not above treating him a bit roughly for interrupting the moment, as evident when she kicks him and Theo in one shot. “Get him up and to Peter’s car. He’s going to take us home. I’m too worked up to drive and Malia would ruin the steering wheel.”
Said Werecoyote growls at that comment, but she hides her extended claws behind her back. Her control is still a very delicate thing and having almost lost another packmember, especially one she is so attached to in every way possible, she might need another moment or ten to come down from her feral high.
Lydia sends a challenging glance to all the people she has mentioned in her plan - from Peter to Malia to Theo and back to Peter again. “Any objections?”
“No, ma’am,” he answers dutifully. Best not to disobey an already livid Banshee.
The others seem to agree as Malia complies by inching closer to the red-head and carefully tugs at her blouse with the tips of her fingers only, mindful of her extra long nails. Lydia immediately pries the fist away from the delicate material but moves so her fingers lace with the other girl.
Theo also wordlessly follows his given directions even if he seems hesitant to move any bit away from the boy. That gets bypassed with a lot of shifting around so he can get his hands around the human in a bridal style carry and lifts him. Stiles looks like a pouting child in the shorter teens arms but makes no fuss about being held like one.
They move quietly back to the side of the road they all left their vehicles on.
~~~
“Get home safe,” Ethan calls out before he takes off on his bike. Jackson doesn’t even bother offering a form of goodbye when he slams his Porsche door. Not that he needs to. Peter doesn’t even know why Ethan delayed with one. There’s no doubt that they'll be crossing the Stilinski’s doormat within the next hour.
There’s little fanfare as the teens pile themselves in the back seat of the eldest Hale’s car, leaving both the Stiles’ Jeep and Lydia’s BMW that is not proportionally appropriate for her in the ditch for the night. They should consider themselves lucky that Stiles is so dead tired after events or else he’d most likely attempt to drive the death trap back home himself.
Ten minutes into the drive, pulling out of the preserve, Peter makes a call. “Wonderful news,” he says in his best sarcastically cheery tone to the bluetooth speaker built into his car. “We are having a good old-fashioned sleepover tonight.”
There is a bit of rustling noises on the other end before a concerned, fatherly voice asks, “Our kids okay?”
Peter is not someone to get the warm fuzzies. He’s not. But something . . . fluttery and proud and violently protective aches in his chest at the terminology. Our.
He looks into the rearview mirror to watch how the four teens have packed themselves into the backseat despite how there is an empty passenger seat beside him. Theo continues to keep Stiles in his arms, the Spark seated halfway on his lap and half on the seat Lydia shares with him. The Banshee has her eyes closed as she rests her head on the Werecyotes’ shoulder. Malia is the only one awake as she’s diligently watching over the others as they rest. She keeps clenching and unclenching her hands in her lap, no claws that he can see but he’s sure they’re just below the surface like her anger.
“Alive,” Peter answers. He’d hardly define them as okay, but they are alive.
“You bringing them all home?”
“Of course. I thought it appropriate to give you some forewarning about the barrage of teenagers coming your way. I wouldn’t be surprised if one or two reach you before we do.”
“Alright. I’ll pull the spare air mattress out of the closet and put it in the living room. I’ll wait til Lydia gets here to put out blankets. No sense in me doing it when she’s gonna rearrange the whole setup anyway.”
That gets a chuckle out of Peter because he hears the girl huff a little behind him indicating that she’s among the conscious. It’s hilarious how they thought Stiles would be the one who would put together a nest for so-called ‘puppy piles’ to occur in. In retrospect the boy barely ever takes time to make his own bed. Why anyone ever thought he’d be the one to care enough to section out a blanket and pillow based roost should have thought twice. Lydia, on the other hand, takes the role very seriously. A fuzzy blanket here, a silky one there, a warm pillow in between. She’s quite good at it too, if Peter is honest.
“We’ll be there soon.”
“Sounds good. Drive safe.”
They hang up and there’s little fanfare thereafter. The traffic is dead at this time of night so they make it to the Stilinski home in even less time than anticipated. There’s already a car parked alongside the cruiser so Peter begrudgingly parks his Lambo on the curb in front of the house.
Once again, John greets them at the door. The man pulls his son out of the many Wolfy hands clinging to him and tugs him into a tight embrace.
Burying his face in his father’s shoulder, the Wolves hear a muffled, “sorry, dad.”
“I know, kid,” John says softly, running his fingers through his son’s damp hair. “I’m just glad you made it back home.”
“This time,” Theo growls lowly. Malia smacks the boy’s bicep in retaliation.
With one more brush of hair and a sentimental kiss to the temple, John lets Stiles go. “Alright,” he announces, “everyone inside. Mason and Liam are already waiting. Is this our headcount for the night or is more coming?”
“Jackson and Ethan are on the way,” Lydia announces, making the expected, official.
The lot of them funnel into the house where their Spark gets hounded by more worried Pack - Liam and Mason literally jumping on the older boy the minute his foot hits the threshold. The Beta is whimpering into the pale collar bone of the older boy at the same time that Mason makes an effort to give his pupils whiplash from how fast and wildly they scan over Stiles for signs of harm.
After a while of deep breathing in Stiles’ scent, Liam finds the strength to pull away. Mason replaces his friend for a shorter but still significant amount of time, also wanting the grounding embrace of an injured packmate.
The next thing they know, Jackson and Ethan pull up in Jackson’s Porsche. The couple each have a duffle bag slung around their shoulders as they enter the house. Dropping the bag at the door, the Kanima crushes the Spark in a hug. Like Liam, it takes a minute or three for Jackson to deliberately scent the boy. Theo has the guts to growl at the duration of this embrace, but one annoyed glance from Stiles settles him back into his place being moody while leaning on the stairway banister. Also like Mason, Ethan takes his vacant spot after Stiles is released for a shorter but still needed time.
Peter stands off to the side with John. As much as they both love these children, in their own contrasting ways, it’s easier to let the kids handle the kids and the adults handle the adults. It’s a new balance that has been settling in after all this time, and so far it seems to be working.
The human man’s heart is calm but by the troubled cedar scent, Peter can tell it aches in a way a Werewolf can’t pull. Regardless, Peter reaches out and runs his wrist from the Sheriff’s shoulder to his palm and back. Scent marking is known to calm even human member in distress.
Slowly the weight on John’s shoulders lifts with the cedar morphing into content pine. Feeling emboldened, the Wolf risks placing a firm but harmless kiss on John’s shoulder. He’s satisfied with the shiver received in response.
Smirking, Peter goes back to teenager-watching only to discover a teen watching them. Malia has this fearful panic written on her face, and the matter of her heartbeat rapidly rising alongside her nails growing sharper and sharper is a concerning one. He furrows his eyebrows at his daughter’s sudden loss of control. As he considers letting go of John and asking her what’s happening, she moves forward quickly and latches herself onto Stiles’ back.
Her power knocks him forward yet he manages to grab onto the hands that bunch up in the front of his shirt so that she can pull him flush against her, helping her anchor. Stiles tries to swivel his head this way and that to get a glimpse of the Coyote and find out what’s wrong. Until he sees Peter’s brace wrapped around John’s bicep. This is when Peter ruefully lets go of the defined muscle.
Stiles’ gaze becomes infinitely softer and sorrowful.
Prying one of the clawed hands out of his already water ruined shirt, Stiles kisses the knuckles of the struggling girl. Lydia and Peter both clock how Theo coughs at that moment, hiding another animalistic complaint about Stiles showing other people affection.
Speaking gently into the dangerous and tragically deadly claws, Stiles reassures, “I’m sorry, Mal. I’m still here. You still have your brother. I’m sorry for scaring you.”
~~~
“How big of a problem would it be if I asked for a shower?”
Several growls echo each other.
“That’s what I thought,” Stiles whines. “Come on, guys! I smell like the bottom of a river. A river that I have seen several of you bathe in with or without fur. I am walking bacteria right now. I'm seconds away from sprouting my own ecosystem. Let me have a hot shower.”
“How do we know the horse won’t show up in your shower to finish you off?” Liam asks in such genuine concern, resurfacing from the older boy’s neck to voice his complaint.
“Phrasing,” Mason says.
Stiles huffs at the pair of them. “That is legitimately not possible for more reasons than I can count - ”
“But the main one is that I killed it,” Peter drops in his contribution.
“Well, how do you know it doesn’t have a partner or something that wants revenge? What if it drowns you in the shower?”
“One of us could go in with you,” Malia suggests with an innocent look on her face.
“Absolutely not!” Stiles raises his arms and crosses them over his body, as though he’s attempting to cover himself from being exposed.
“Why?” Lydia asks. “Everyone in this room has seen you completely undressed before.”
It’s a sign of recovery that Stiles has the ability to sputter about in insult. “Not everyone! Not Mason or Theo!” One mississippi. The Sheriff coughs. Two mississippi. “Or Peter!”
Bless his heart, the boy does a good job of not looking at either Peter or John as he tacks on that last name. A poorer job at covering his heartbeat. There had been an unfortunate requirement for a ritual he, Stiles, Lydia, and Scott had to perform. Their Alpha basically outlawed them from ever speak of it thereafter. A tad dramatic and prude, if Peter does say so himself. But perhaps not telling his romantic interest that he’s been naked with their son and son’s friends is most beneficial. Luckily, all Wolves present are loyal so that secret gets to be held a little longer.
They've all kept worse secrets.
“Why am I one of the only ones who hasn’t seen you naked,” Mason breaks the silence. “Is that homophobic or racist?”
Stiles’ pterodactyl impression is quite good, shrieking at a pitch all creatures present wince. “You assholes are not about to gaslight me into showing off my birthday suit to the last few people who have been spared. I feel like I’m getting slut-shamed. Is this slut shaming? I am not the town bicycle!”
Jackson snorts, shoving at Stiles’ back to make stumble toward the stairs. “I don’t know. You have touched my balls plenty of times before.”
Stiles shrieks louder this time, “I hit you in the balls before. That is not the same thing.” With determination and a bit of spark back, the brunette marches up the steps to the second floor. “I am taking my shower now purely to get the embarrassment of this conversation off my skin.”
No one protests, but everyone smiles at the theatrics still kicking in him.
Ethan re-emerges from the kitchen and into the den once more. The steaming mug of lavender and honey scented murky water he carries with him gets passed over to Lydia. She takes it without hesitation but tilts her pretty head at the other teen.
“A tea my mom used to make me when I had bad dreams,” Ethan states in an even but tender way. “I know what losing your other half is like. How it fries your nerves and hollows you out. It feels like the worst dream possible.”
~~~
Malia, Theo, and Liam all get fidgety when Stiles takes his time in the bathroom. The water has been shut off for the past twenty minutes but the human boy has been fussing about. They all clearly know he is fine since they can hear him sighing and mumbling to himself every now and then, but there’s a distinct lack of Spark in their immediate vicinities.
“I’ll go make sure a water horse hasn’t finished him off,” Peter offers out of the blue. All the forced chatter they have been carrying while struggling not to pry on Stiles ceases at once.
“Why do you get to?” Malia immediately jumps to a standing position, wanting to be the one to check up on their Spark.
“Because we should really cross me off his list.”
There’s more protest to this answer, including from John, but Peter slips away up the stairs and doesn’t have the time to listen.
Following the only heartbeat on the second floor leads straight to the washroom. Said heartbeat is fast in comparison to other humans but relatively normal for this human. Not seeing the need to knock, Peter enters without a hesitation.
The expectation is for flailing limbs to startle out when he first opens the door, to be followed up with a glare and smart quip spilling out from those sinful lips. Reality is less fun. Instead, he opens the door to a boy staring despondently at his own reflection. They are by no means as bad as they were during his stint as a fox, but the shadows under his eyes are pronounced.
The boy is tired.
Peter can relate.
He doesn’t hesitate to enter the boy’s personal bubble, coming up behind him to see what he’s looking at in the mirror.
“Sometimes I don’t think this is what I’m supposed to look like. That this body is wrong,” Stiles confesses. He brings a hand to his face, tracing lightly from beauty mark to beauty mark. From cheek to neck to clavicle and back again. “I've had to wear contacts since the fifth grade. I don't know if you knew that in the creepy way you seem to know just about everything else, but contacts were a must if I didn't want to face plant into the sidewalk every ten steps. Past tense. If I put them in now everything is blurred. No matter how many blankets or Werewolves I have stacked on me, I am always cold. Yet I don't get sick. I don't think my immune system has ever worked this efficiently before in my life. It would be one last trick from the fox to spit me out different.” Gazing into his own haunted amber irises, the Spark lowers the hand to scratch at the pale column of skin. “I don’t know how to fix it and I think it’s starting to scare Scott. I’m fundamentally not something a pacifist Alpha can condone. I’m - ”
Peter doesn’t consider the action he takes when he carefully plucks those digging nails from the fragile skin. The contact seems to shake Stiles out of whatever spiral he had gotten lost in. Pupils flicker over to his intruder for the first time and whatever Peter shows on his face earns him that same startled, heartbroken look Stiles gave Malia.
The Wolf thinks Stiles sees it now. Sees the flame of ghosts and the fear of attachment. Sees how he has threatened Peter with more loss. Sees how poor Lydia almost became another orphaned twin. Sees how Malia nearly had to bury more siblings. Sees how he could have made his father a sole survivor of the worst kind.
Stiles sees that they all almost lost him tonight.
Regardless of right or wrong, fox or spark, murderer or survivor, his true pack will feel the devastation of his loss.
And what cries back at Peter are haunted amber eyes filled with understanding that this has to change. There have been cracks in the pack for far too long now, but no one wanted to be the one to shatter the fragile bonds.
This appears to be a breaking point.
“Sometimes I don’t think this is what I’m supposed to be like,” Stiles confesses next. “I don’t think I fit in the McCall guidelines. And I think I don't care anymore.”
~~~
Later, in the witching hours, Peter remains awake as the pups and John rest. He’s not sure what physics they used to do it, but the kids managed to fit all eight of them on the air mattress. He’s pretty sure that at least two of them would have suffocated by now if not for the handy Wolf features they have built in. The human Sheriff is passed out on the couch behind the air mattress even though he should be in a proper bed. One of the many lessons you must learn the hard way in Beacon Hills is that Stilinski’s are stubborn sons-of-bitches. Pack Dad wanted to be near the kids, so he gets the couch to himself. Desiring some space from all those hormonal bodies scattered along the floor, Peter opted for the cushioned chair that barricades the living room from the front hallway. Your first line of defense should always be your best, and who’s better than Peter Hale?
There’s a heartbeat or four still in a waking rhythm, but the room stays peacefully quiet.
Until Stiles decides for it not to be.
“Do you really remember the last thing you promised me?” the boy asks from wherever he’s buried among the pile of bodies. His voice is light and young. Far too young to sound so thoroughly defeated.
Another soft voice responds, “Of course, I do.”
“You promised me,” Stiles says again, as though he hadn’t heard the other boy answer him. There’s a noise of shifting blankets, pillows, and fabrics of all varieties. Following is the sweet muted sound of two lips locking together. More than a handful of kisses are exchanged in the calm of night.
“I know,” Theo responds again. Another soft minute of quiet kisses. “I know, Honey.”
~~~
The next morning is subdued. Peter and John rise earlier than the teens.
John offers to make them all breakfast, but the Hale knows feeding this many Wolf children will bleed the man’s wallet sooner rather than later, so Peter suggests that the human brew some coffee and he’ll go gather a meal for them.
The waitress at the diner wasn’t all too happy with his ten orders of eggs, four orders of the triple chocolate chip pancakes, three orders of plain pancakes, five fruit cups, and seven meat lover’s combos. He leaves three fifty dollar bills as penance.
By the time he’s back Stiles, Theo, and Lydia are awake. Their Goddess of a girl decides to stay among the puppy pile she systematically built, scrolling on her phone lazily while Malia and Liam sleep curled around her. John sits at the dining room table, enjoying his coffee and paper, but still acting as chaperone as he watches moderately.
The mole speckled boy has decided to work on cleaning some miscellaneous dishes scattered in the kitchen sink. They aren’t even dirty, but the boy needs something to do with his hands for the time being and Theo seems more than content wrapped around him. Theo hasn't been more than an arm's length away from Stiles since last night; most usually touching the human Spark in any way he can until the brunette tells him to back up again. But in this instance, Peter understands the need to remain close.
There was an incident a little less than a year ago with a group of rogue and frankly outdated hunters trying to lure out the McCall Pack by using their local Banshee as bait. There was a detailed ransom note depicting what they planned to do to the girl which ended with the promise of burning her like the witch she was. Peter doesn’t know what type of dumbass hunter really thought that Banshees were the same thing as Witches, but he didn’t have the chance to contemplate that notion further before he went on a frenzy to find his missing Red.
Despite how by the time the Pack had arrived Lydia was free from her captors and covered in blood - none of which smelled to be her own - Peter couldn’t convince his wolf to leave the girl’s side for over two days after the threat of losing another person to flames.
So this is yet another parallel among them that Peter can respect.
Even if he smirks at the clingy lil pup latching himself to the Spark’s back.
Peter comes in, stubbornly making only one trip from the car to the house with a million bags, and passes the kids to set the food down on the kitchen island. Stiles raises his head long enough to see it’s him, smiles softly, then goes back to his task. Theo never takes his attention away from Stiles. Not that Peter thought he would.
As the Wolf begins russling through all the wasteful plastic protectiving their meal, John rises and whispers to the room at large that he'll be back with the necessary amount of napkins. Peter is kind enough to ignore when the younger Wolf in the room rests his forehead between Stiles’ shoulder blades. Kinder yet of him to ignore Theo when speaks in a low, soft voice certainly not meant for his ears, “The only two people I have ever cared about are here in Beacon.” There is none of the background noise from last night of Malia and Ethan roughhousing, or Jackson and Liam laughing obnoxiously loud, or John and Lydia talking gently between themselves in these early hourse - only the flow of the kitchen faucet to drown out the newest packmember’s prompted conversation. And from the way Stiles slows his roll with the sponge, he has the Spark’s apt attention. “I’ve already had to bury one of them, I can’t lose the other. Not yet.”
“Yet you’re still lying to me,” Stiles whispers back. There’s no ire in the statement, none of that burning accusation the Spark had only months ago. Now it's merely a fact with a bitter aftertaste. “Secrets have killed more people in this town than the flu. I’m not going to fall in line with someone who can’t even tell me the truth.”
Theo struggles to break the silence, failing to refute the valid concern laid bare at his feet.
The booming blast of thunder rescues them from dwelling on the conversation further. Not that it is much of a saving grace. Not when you’re a creature with exceptionally sharp senses.
All the Were’s invading the Stilinski home flinch at the first clap of thunder; effectively waking them up. The better trained of them grimace and wipe the sleep from their eyes, while the newer ones growl and Beta shift at the unexpected assault to the senses. The rain hasn’t let up all morning but the addition of a roaring sky is new, making them all startle in their slumbering comfort.
“Come on, Bear,” Stiles sighs as he shuts the faucet off and sets the last of the plates down to dry. He turns in Theo’s arms and slides both his palms down from those broad shoulders, past his biceps and forearms, to hold the other boy’s hands. A replica of the scenting Peter implemented on the other Stilinski not long ago. “I should put up some sounding wards to spare the poor Wolfy ears. You might as well help me.”
Theo doesn’t protest, allowing Stiles to pull him away hand in hand. “If you insist,” he fakes a complaint as though he’s put off by the request. There’s more witty banter as they head up the stairs together, but Peter stops listening.
John comes rounding back into the kitchen once the boys are gone, eyeing the pair at the top of the steps. “Should I be concerned about that?” he asks the other adult.
Pretending to hem-and-haw at the question, Peter waves a hand. “Not yet.”
A soft snort is his response but no further questioning.
“That used to be his name,” John says casually as he helps Peter set all the food out on the table. The kids are now awake and grumbling about it in the next room over. After Stiles is done with the wards, they’ll get to eating. “Truthfully, when Stiles first told me Theo was back in Beacon Hills I didn't recognize the name. I always knew him as Bear.”
“A childhood nickname, then?” Peter guesses.
“Yeah. When we first met the Raekens, his mother would call him Teddy. He hated it. So Tara deviated and started calling him Bear instead. He liked that much better.” John passes him one of the styrofoam containers of pancakes to put on his side of the table. “Her and Stiles would correct anyone from that point on if they called him Teddy, and that was that.”
“And Honey?” Peter inquires, handing over a dish of assorted breakfast meats. The names seem too entwined together. A call and response between the pair.
There's a slight pause with this explaination. “Claudia would say Stiles is her sweet Honey,” John goes on in a delicate, faded voice. “I’d ask her if we were raising the same hellion. It always got her to laugh and usually sent Stiles on a tirade about all the good things he did that week, acting as his own lawyer in rebutting my allegations. Which would make Claudia laugh even harder.” The woodsy scent of the Stilinski deepens into something sweet but sickenly so. A melancholy maple. “Theo liked it, too. Liked having a name that matched his own. A name only he and Claudia called Stiles.”
Humming along, Peter pops open the last of the containers. “The more and more I find out about their history, the less and less sense it makes that Stiles believed Theo wasn’t the real deal,” he points out. It sounds as though this Stilinski obsession started long before the mysterious Were teen’s return.
Collecting the newly clean plates Stiles had finished with, the Sheriff stations them in front of every available chair. “I don’t know about that,” John defends his son.
“Oh?”
“Well, the biggest tip off was him actively hanging around Scott instead of Stiles.”
“Hardly an unusual thing. They were all friends, and Scott is the Alpha now. There's a certain favorability that title influences.”
“I know I don’t get Werewolf instincts like Stiles does.” A very true, very funny statement. Stiles understands being a Werewolf better than some of the Wolves in the McCall Pack. “And maybe the Alpha thing was enough to change things, but, god, Theo hated Scott when they were eight.”
Oh.
This is certainly news.
“Really?” Peter asks, trying not to sound too fascinated.
“Yes, really," John insists. "He threw an absolute tantrum when the McCall's first moved in down the street and Stiles wanted to play with the new kid. After the third time Theo convinced an undiagnosed Stiles to leave the woods in the middle of a game of hide and seek while Scott was hiding, we had to step in. We adults never really spoke about it because Scott was too young and sweet to see what was happening, and we figured it was a childish jealousy that Theo was just going to have to grow out of. But, still, we agreed that if the three of them were together then at least one of us had to watch them. Play dates were usually split just in case.”
The human grabs plenty of eating utensils from one of the cabinet draws and hands half for Peter to distribute among the plates.
From the den, a special guest star joins the conversation. “He dumped an entire bottle of glue into Scott’s backpack at least twice in elementary school,” Jackson says with a raspy, just-woke-up voice. Even a room away, Peter hears the click of the boy's jaw as he yawns before following up with, “ruined all his papers and homework and stuff. Claimed it was an accident both times. Fuck if I know how you do that by accident, but I thought it was funny as hell.”
“It was an accident,” Theo skips in from the second story. They’ve made it to the hallway at least, because John seems to hear an echo of the dirty blond.
“What are they saying?”
“More proof that you’re right and Theo is a horribly infatuated liar,” Peter answers. He sets the last of the cutlery down, hearing footsteps come down the stairs again and announces, “Now come get breakfast.”
~~~
The pack of wild teens eat and get livelier with full bellies. Peter was hoping to have some leftovers for the Stilinski’s to keep, but he should have known that ravenous teenagers weren’t ones to leave behind crumbs. He supposes that means he’ll merely have to accompany whichever Stilinski goes grocery shopping next. What a plight.
They reform the puppy pile afterward everyone is stuffed and subdued from the rain. The kids play an animated movie Peter doesn’t recognize nor bothers to commit to memory. He gets pillows thrown at him every time he voices a plot hole or illogical character choice. By the end of the movie, he has most of the pillows held hostage and Liam trying to negotiate a compromise for them back.
Not seeing a rhyme or reason to get up or go out when the weather continues to be gray and wet, another movie is played after an intermission. The next movie Peter also doesn’t recognize, but he knows the main character very well from having nieces.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” John mumbles dejectedly into his hands when the intro sequence begins. “Not again.”
“Why do you have the Hannah Montana movie?” Ethan asks exactly what Peter is thinking as Billy Ray Cyrus gripes at a wig.
“Because it’s a cult classic?” Stiles says back with zero hesitation. “I have it downloaded on every device I own. Never know when you need to watch the tale of a city girl connecting to her yeehaw roots.”
Theo laughs fondly, dragging Stiles closer in his arms, cuddled together in the mountain of bodies. “We would watch this movie religiously. Didn’t matter if we were paying attention or not, we always had it on. Travis is half the reason I discovered I liked boys.”
“Amen,” Mason comments from one side of the pile, slotted at the end with half his body laying ontop of his best friend.
“What’s the other half?” Malia questions Theo.
“Practice kissing with Stiles.”
“Okay, everyone shut your faces and watch the movie.”
And so they do.
They watch the movie mostly uninterrupted. John falls asleep not even a third through, leaning his head on Peter’s shoulder for a makeshift pillow. Once they make it to the end credits, Stiles snatches the remote from Lydia’s manicured hands. To everyone’s dismay, he hits the play button on the main menu again.
This time around people quote their favorite parts and sing along obnoxiously loud to the music, drowning out any residual sound from outside. By the time they start making dinner plans - John has the house stocked up on pasta for circumstances exactly like this - Stiles and Theo are teaching Ethan, Mason, Malia, and Jackson the hoedown throwdown.
Life can be and has been far worse than this. And this is something Peter Hale's more than willing to protect at all costs.
~~~
There’s nothing better than a myriad of children blowing up his phone at three in the forsaken morning.
No more than two years ago he would have simply broken the cellular device in retaliation and made sure to change his number with the purchase of a new phone. A year ago he would have only answered for his daughter or the Reds. Nowadays, he answers no matter who has come calling, much to his own self-loathing. Mostly because it never seems to matter who the caller is, the kids he has put too much investment in will always find their way back to the line of danger.
That doesn’t necessarily mean he can’t make his Alpha sweat a little. The oldest living Hale answers the fourth in coming call.
It’s debatable if it’s better or worse that Scott is not the one on the other side of the call.
“Why weren’t you answering?”
“Because, nephew, you are tiring and it’s entirely too early for anyone to be calling for anything good,” Peter answers honestly.
There’s a grunt in response. “Something broke into Scott’s house. We don’t know what, they didn’t get a look at it. Scott wants us to meet immediately since it violated a Pack safe space.”
Peter doesn’t hide his scoff at the phrasing. There is no such thing as a safe space within Beacon Hills. He doesn’t bother with confirmations or farewells as he hangs up on Derek now that he knows the situation. Of course, he’s going to attend the impromptu gathering if only so he has even more information on the situation - knowledge will always be power.
No matter how foolishly obtained.
~~~
With all his playing hard to get pastime, Peter isn’t acquainted with being one of the first packmates to show up . . . to anything, really.
Yet that is the position they are in.
Scott, Derek, Isaac, Theo, and Peter all staring blankly at either one another or at the mind numbingly plain walls. He took up residency on the stairs adjacent to the living room with Derek propped on the banister next to him. Whether that be due to Pack protection, family instinct, or misplaced nostalgia is unknown and uncared for. Isaac, as per usual, sticks close to the Alpha who is leaning against a piece of his mother’s furniture. The same couch that Theo sits on all by his lonesome, face impressively impassive in a smug way.
Peter hasn’t asked who was present for this so-called break in or if everyone is alright. No point in pleasantries. “Well,” he drawls in boredom, “isn’t this a much better way to be spending my morning rather than sleeping, hmm?”
“They’re on the way,” Scott says shortly. The Alpha has never truly come around to having Peter be part of things but he’s outnumbered by those who want him close for one reason or another. That’s perfectly fine with the man. His heart is certainly not going to be broken over not being accepted by a boy king who barely even accepts himself.
Almost on cue, each of the Wolves straightens at the sound of the gravel crunching under heavy rubber outside. Several cars pulling in all at once. Various metal doors flung open and slammed shut. Numerous feet marching up to the doorstep.
Malia is the first of them to enter the McCall home, drastically throwing the door open and loudly announces upon entry, “I’m sober!” She’s got one hand raised up in the air as she says it, as though called on in a classroom, with a set of keys resting in her palm.
Her reasoning for this behavior becomes very clear, very quickly as all the teens accompanying her stumble their way across the house's threshold in various stages of intoxication.
“I am also sober,” Lydia says. She twists a little to glare at Stiles beside her as she adds on the unnecessary information of: “I had two drinks hours ago, I was and am fine to drive.”
She’s dressed up prettily for whatever misadventure the teens have gone on tonight. A slim fitting crimson cocktail dress. It’s designed with a lower neckline and slits on either side of her bare legs, showing more pale skin than typical of the girl. Her other half must have also been dressed by her because the red crop-top he is wearing in combination with black booty-shorts and stockings isn’t something Peter has seen in Stiles’ closet before. The Spark’s cosmetics certainly isn’t his own doing. The Wolf has witnessed first hand how Stiles becomes too distracted to get his makeup done right by himself - often only making a mess and ruining a minimum of three beauty tools. No, the matching red and gold blended eyeshadow both Gemini don is done by the Banshee, no doubt.
Human, Spark, and everything he is in between does not forfeit Stiles from being plastered out of his mind. He simply giggles at Lydia’s annoyance and follows her further into the den.
Instead of taking one of the obviously open spot on the couch, he seats himself on the floor.
In between Theo’s open legs.
Granted, it’s innocent enough since Stiles is facing the room at large rather than turned to the Were’, but the intimate placing results in many wide-eyed reactions.
Peter does find amusement in the momentary break in Theo’s calmness with a few heartbeats missed; staring down startled at the boy in his personal, personal space. His recovery would have been smooth, snapping that unaffected mask back on in a blink, if only the next blink didn’t have Stiles stretching and laying his arms and then head down on one of Theo’s thighs. It certainly doesn’t help that the movement now shows off Stiles’ long, pale, unprotected neck. The new adjustment has the poor Wolf inhaling sharply and grabbing onto the cushioned armrest like a lifeline.
Lydia takes her partner’s lead and finds a spot on the carpet floor, beside Stiles. Theo’s leg acts as a combo pillow for Stiles and barrier between the Gemini. Peter doesn’t miss the way the redhead unceremoniously wraps her hand around Theo’s ankle, the thumb rubbing circles into the bone.
They are obviously taking a claim of some sort on him.
Peter expects a thank you card in the postage.
Malia, despite truthfully being not intoxicated, lays down on the floor with her head resting in the Banshee’s lap. Her eyeshadow is the inverse, with the gold palette more prominent than the red, but blended in a way that it meshes beautifully. As the unofficial third, though it’s hard to say who truly plays third wheel since each of them seem to slot together so fluidly, Malia is clothed in a rosy, sequined tank top and even shorter booty shorts with stockings. Lydia’s other hand winds its way into the Coyote's hair.
Ethan helps Jackson stumble into the open room, guiding them both to the couch and landing in the spot next to Theo. Neither is dressed to the standard of the trio, but they don’t look half bad in their tight t-shirts and ripped, equally tight jeans. The Half-Kanima partially sits in his boyfriend’s lap, resting his heavy head on the other boy’s shoulder while rumbling contently. Ethan merely smiles softly down at his hammered mate and leaves a light kiss on the crown of his head.
“You were out clubbing?” Isaac asks with traces of judgment laced in his voice.
“We were celebrating Ethan’s birthday,” Malia says.
“It’s your birthday?” Scott sounds surprised that he didn’t know this information. Peter assures everyone that Scott McCall not knowing something is very commonplace. “We would have thrown you a party.”
“I had a party,” Ethan replies and there is a bit of a slur in his words proving that he’s also been hitting the wolfsbane bottle. But he's coherent enough to speak the truth. “Lydia and Stiles planned it. Didn’t want me to feel lonely on my birthday this year.” The first time his birthday is only his. Jackson rumbles now a little louder and snuggles a little closer. Ethan lays another kiss on him. “Good Pack. Good friends.”
Peter - along with John, Natalie, and both the Whittemore’s - were invited for the cake cutting and the first movie of the movie marathon they held during the day at the Martin household. Understandably, Ethan didn’t want the adults around for the whole day. Reasonable for any teen, but moreso for a one who had all adults fail him in life thus far.
This apparently doesn’t sit right with their Alpha. “We could have done it together,” Scott argues, crossing his arms over his chest. For some reason his disapproval finds its way to the resident Spark.
That disapproval gets efficiently dashed into hurt when Ethan, in his loose-lipped stupor asks, “Why would I want you at my birthday?”
The room can practically see the question mark rising above the boy’s head. “We’re your Pack? I would have thought you’d want us there. I mean, . . . I don’t know, I just . . .” he stumbles a bit. His attention flickers back to a barely attentive Stiles, and Peter understands what the idiot is struggling to convey without saying it.
Why would Stiles, your twin’s killer, be invited but not Scott, your Alpha?
One lesson Peter does learn this night is to not underestimate someone who Deucalion found worthy, because with sudden alertness Ethan seems to connect the aligned dots and isn’t very happy about the picture it paints. So he gets a little nasty. “I’ve never jacked off watching you suck my boyfriend's dick.”
Jackson, who’s basically providing white noise for the room at this point, goes another octave lower with a smirk on his lips.
Stiles lifts his head long enough to extend one of his hands to smack blindly at the former Alpha’s lap - the part not occupied by a 5’9’’ blond, broad werewolf. “You got it in my eye. Still mad.”
Ethan flips his switch back off, eyes going hazy and posture sluggish when he takes the offending hand and holds it in his own. “I know. Still sorry.”
“Can we get on track?” Derek asks gruffly. Peter snickers at his nephew’s discomfort, to which said nephew glares back at him for. Those blue balls must be quite the load for him to carry.
“Right,” Scott nods along with his Right-Hand’s annoyed suggestion. “Uh, yeah. So there was something in my house today. More than one. I think three, but it was hard to tell.”
“I woke up to one on my bed,” Isaac adds, “It was touching my feet.” The blond physically shutters at the memory.
“They were small and fast. I think there might have been something sharp attached to them too,” Scott trails off and turns to Isaac for confirmation if this remembrance is correct. Nodding back, the Alpha continues. “They got in through the basement window, so that gives us some scale to what it could be, right?”
He’s met with silence.
“Did you really call a Pack meeting because of a rodent problem,” Stiles whines. His head flops back a little further onto Theo’s lap in bodily protest. The Wolf keeps up his cocky persona, acting as an arrogant bystander, but with all the attention Peter has been paying the boy lately he’s able to weed out the want hidden in his gaze. A need to touch for himself.
“Dude, no!” Scott protests. “Listen, if you don’t want to research right now, fine. But you need to at least put up some of those magic protection signs or something. These things were in my house! It’s not safe.”
Stiles throws a confused glare in Scott’s direction, eyes a little unfocused but candid. “I’m still recovering from the Kelpie in case you forgot,” he says with more coherency than Peter anticipated. “You fucked up a spell that already takes a lot out of me in general but then also let liquid Black Beauty chew on my metaphysical energy like sugar cubes. I’m not going to be ready to do another ritual for at least a few more days.”
Derek, daringly considering how close in proximity to Peter he is, pipes up. “So after all that big talk about being a Spark, you have nothing to show for it?”
Perhaps their monthly meetings should be yearly instead. They could use the space.
“Awfully judgmental for wolves asking for protection,” Peter throws into the conversation. It’s cute that Derek still gets that hurt scowl every time his uncle sides with the human boy. You’d think he’d learn his lesson eventually. But then again, he’s acquired himself an extensive rapt sheet of exes. All of Beacon Hills should know by now that life lessons aren’t Derek’s forte.
“I thought he was just skinny, weak, defenseless Stiles, right Derek?” Ethan spits as well, clearly feeling feisty in this new age. His boyfriend growls start to edge into a roar at the comment but still doesn’t appear able or willing to form words in either defense or rebuttal.
“Stiles!”
“I didn’t say shit!”
“Yeah, but - ”
“He can’t do the wards,” Malia cuts off bluntly. “It doesn’t matter how much you bitch, he can’t save your ass this time. So what do you want from us, Alpha?”
Watching an Alpha shift uneasily on their feet like an insecure child is an infuriating thing. Because that was his only plan. He needed Stiles’ help and instead of asking for it, he called a whole meeting to assert his authority. And now here they all are with their dicks in their hands with nothing to meet for.
Pathetic.
“Jay, Ethan,” Stiles asks, rising from his post on the carpet, much to Theo’s disappointment. “You guys still up to have a bit of fun?”
“Fuck yes,” Jackson answers immediately. He found his words, how sweet. “My house.”
“Yeah. His parent’s won’t be home until this afternoon. Plus his bed is the only one large enough to fit all of us,” Ethan agrees, getting the two of them back off the couch. The blond runs a hand through Stiles’ longer hair. “I can make it up to you for the eye thing.”
Stiles hums and links arms with the former Alpha.
Lydia and Malia get up without a fuss and follow their boys out. Peter assumes they are invited to the fun as well, and if not, then they’ll most probably enact their own fun by themselves. Although Peter doesn’t foresee Stiles forsaking his girls like that.
Lydia pauses when in front of Theo on their walkout.
She leans in close to the Were’, using both her delicate arms to barricade fierce little Theo between the back of the couch and her own body. Despite bending over to be eye-level, with two of her very nice assets on display at the same time, the boy keeps optic contact with the Banshee. They remain in that position for an odd amount of time, only broken when she says in a voice of teasing authority, “If you’re a good boy who can handle sharing, then you can come play too.”
Next thing, as though the interaction hasn’t taken place, she slowly lifts herself back to her full height, their eyes never leave each other until she turns to the door. Strutting her way on out, Stiles takes her by the hand the moment they converge again.
Theo only spares a moment to send a (fake) apologetic glance to the flustered Alpha, but it’s clear he’s not willing to pass up this invitation, as he’s on his feet and chasing the Reds out the door with the rest of the staunchly Star Sign aligned Wolves.
Peter claps as he gets up from the staircase. “Well, this has been very thrilling, but I think I’ll retire back to not caring about any of you.”
His sudden exit has nothing to do with the fact that he now knows John will be home alone for the next few hours.
~~~
They win a fight against gnomes.
As an educated scholar and supernatural creature himself, Peter normally prides himself on knowing the intricate weavings of what is mythology, what is reality, and what lies in between. However, this time around when he is aloof with information for the Reds and Company during research night it’s less to do with keeping up his bastard reputation and more about not believing gnomes existed. He thought them fables, so he chuckled a little when the newest human packmember suggested that gnomes were responsible for breaking into the McCall house. He still hadn’t thought so as McCall brought them all out to the preserve for a peace talk with the gaggle of small, enchanted men. That is, until the Hale had one sticking its grubby little claws into his thigh, attempting to climb him like a scratching post.
The first thing he learns about gnomes first hand is that they are nasty creatures. Bit right through his suede boots. The audacity.
Luckily, the nonsensical species aren’t very fond of noises over 120 decibels. Scott had been ready to interject when Stiles pulled out a pistol, the stupid Alpha preparing to take away the Spark’s only physical weapon, when the boy aimed for the treetops to unload the clip. All the attacking gnomes fell over in pain. Finishing off with a brilliant Banshee scream has the lot of nuisances scurrying away and most likely out of the preserve. Another story Peter gets to tell of the Gemini.
They’re all dusting themselves off and checking in on one another now. Scott and Isaac huddle together with a notable female fox missing from their ranks - Peter cannot recall a time seeing her after the lake-side stand-off weeks, that are quickly becoming months, ago. Derek brooding on the side with little input. In all fairness, Peter is also a Creeperwolf standing off to the side, smirking as he listens to Mason gush over the Reds, wanting to know what they know, while Liam, Malia, and Jackson scent the duo with purpose.
“Lydia, I think this is yours,” Theo jokes as he picks up an abandoned knife on the forest floor. “Lucky that they dropped it before they left, huh?”
Peter stops in his tracks at the sight. All of the pack are watching now but he knows that only a handful of the others have the same reaction as him; Stiles’ heart skipping several beats, Jackson’s sharp intake of breath, Ethan’s and Malia’s unsudden stillness.
The change in tension does not go unnoticed by anyone, not even Scott who’s doing his stupid puppy-dog head tilt, but Raeken makes a good show at being calm. “I figured you’d want it back.”
“Hmmm,” Lydia hums in a detached way. Just from the one sound you can tell her vocal cords have a bit of rasp from use. Without another word she meets him an arm’s length away. Her gaze is calculatingly wary as she surveys him holding the palm-sized knife by the blade with the heel extended out for her to take back. One breath too many, she finally takes the handle gently, daintily, into her grip and lets it fit loosely in her palm.
Her next movement is an unexpected jerking of her arm and ripping it out of Theo’s purchase in a violent tugging motion. It slices his palm open. The boy flinches and pulls his wounded hand to his chest.
“Lydia!” Scott calls out in distress over his Beta being hurt in friendly fire.
“It’s okay,” Theo placates with a smile. It’s noted that he’s smart enough to shuffle back a little for safety. He lifts the attacked hand to show how the damage dealt is already healing over.
Peter and Stiles advance at the same time, making quick work of placing themselves in front of Lydia despite the fact that she has her weapon back. Peter makes sure to be in front of Stiles so both his little Reds are protected behind him.
“Thank you, Theo,” the eldest Hale says with his own smile. “Lydia would be truly saddened if she lost the knife Chris Argent gifted her.”
Only a portion of the Pack know that Chris gave Stiles and Lydia a bootcamp in Hunter training before he went into official retirement. An even smaller portion seem to realize that a gift from Chris Argent wouldn’t be so plain.
Theo had touched her wolfsbane infused knife without flinching. Theo had healed in seconds without a hint of the poisonous flower affecting him.
Theo Raeken is no Werewolf.
~~~
The next thing anyone knows, they are prying a rage filled Spark off of the Not-Werewolf.
Isaac and Scott specifically drag Stiles away from the other boy from where the human had knocked the two of them over. Theo remains laid out on the ground for a moment longer before sitting up with blood dripping down his chin from his nose. Scott rumbles with displeasure as they shove Stiles back to his feet and shuffled away from the attacking party. To Peter’s disappointment, Stiles tries to cling onto Scott, his whole body trembling from his anger at this betrayal.
This is a regression on all ends. Theo losing Stiles’ trust, Stiles begging Scott to believe him, Scott working with enemies - intentionally or not.
It’s hard to tell who smelled more furious: Stiles or the Alpha. If Scott’s ire were not so quick to turn on one packmate then perhaps he’d caught the Not-Wolf donning an almost proud grin on his face when he licks the blood from his lips. Then again, Peter fully believes that the reluctant Were’ could find a way to pin blame on his favorite scapegoat for just about anything. He’s seen the boy bend over backwards to fit blame on Stiles’ shoulders, one way or another.
Stiles must believe that he still has some sway with his best friend because he tries to present his case. “Scott, you don’t understand. He’s been - ”
“Enough, Stiles! I’ve had enough of this! All this paranoia and blame and everything. I’m so sick of it! You’re literally attacking our friends!” Scott shouts at his best friend. Stiles presses his lips firmly together, nostrils flaring at the disregard. “We’re having an emergency meeting. Everyone get yourselves clean and meet at the loft in an hour.” Derek grunts at the mention of his residency being solicited. The Alpha faces his Beta for a moment, wincing in apology, and with a meaningful look he states, “We can’t keep skirting around this anymore.”
This gets Derek to nod in return.
“McCall,” Jackson growls in warning.
“NO! You will listen to me!” Scott demands through elongated fangs, turning his hard glare onto the blue-eyed Beta.
A condescending huff of laughter leaves the blond hybrid as he sneers back in response. He takes another step forward and Peter moves in tandem - if the stupid Alpha doesn’t want to listen to reason then the blue-eyed Betas have no qualms taking action for themselves.
“Don’t.”
He falls a step short. The eldest Hale turns to Lydia. She’s already staring back at him, and those big eyes of hers are wide and resolute. After needling him in place for long enough with her haunting stare, that same scrutiny shifts over to the other side of the clearing to where Malia and Jackson are barely holding themselves back from tearing the breached threat apart. Damnedest of all, she does a very un-Lydia thing and repeats herself, only slightly louder than her previous whisper. “Don’t.”
Scott rips another louder growl in frustration at whatever Lydia is saying. It must be hard knowing that a human has better control of your Betas than you do.
“I said enough!” Scott runs his hands through his hair before demanding again, “One hour. The loft.”
In an act of authority, he sticks out a hand to the grounded Not-Wolf, assisting him more kindly to his feet than Stiles, and parades away from the scene before anyone else. Scott and Theo walking away from this mess, side by side. The Alpha even has the fucking gall to clap the other boy on the back and mutter a soft apology for the Spark’s behavior.
There’s a familiar glint lighting Stiles’ eyes as he watches them exit the clearing together.
~~~
The Banshee grabs her Spark the moment Scott stomps away like a child with already healed Theo by his side. Stiles almost recoils from her touch, but she doesn’t take no as an answer. Not from him.
Linking arm in arm, she whisks him toward the direction of home. The rest of them tail closely.
“This is bullshit,” Malia growls in annoyance.
“Agreed,” Ethan seconds.
Of course Peter shares the sentimentality, yet he can’t help but hear the brief conversation happening mere five feet ahead of them.
“Thanks for the back-up,” Peter listens to Stiles say with a taste of venom under his breath.
“You need to see where this leads,” Lydia replies instantaneously, an icy cold tone. “You need to see what your Alpha really thinks of you, because I promise you the rest of us already see it. We’re waiting for you to catch up.”
~~~
It’s natural that he returns to the loft with time to spare.
The kids decide to do as they were told, much to their hostile disappointment, of going home to shower and change. Derek and Isaac are back even before Peter, but they are off in their own rooms. He heads up to his designated room in the spacious building to gather himself before whatever this impromptu meeting
As the time passes, he hears people shuffle in. No one stops to knock, they just open the doors and enter. Someone is puttering around in the kitchen while everyone lags. With curiosity, Peter sits on the edge of his bed as he listens to someone make their way up the loft stairs and to his room.
Knuckles rap on the door he’s intently staring at, patiently waiting for a boy-king to swallow that pesky entitled, pride. How civil. “Enter.”
It’s no epiphany to find Theo opening the door. Pacing into the spare room, he closes the door behind him and leans against the wood. There’s a moment where they both take the time to assess one another. Peter cocks his head in wait. The child sighs, crossing his arms against his chest.
“What’s my move here?”
~~~
They are stupid.
Peter knows they are young and learning and so full with hopeful good will, but they are stupid to the point of apathy. Even his Reds are naive with their inexperience of the world, but this is a new level of senseless. One that he has no intention of being part of, but he was given explicit directions:
“Don’t.”
No matter how hard it is to remain uninvolved.
“So,” Stiles begins and the energy in the air is dangerous, powerful, and commanding - just as Peter always knew he would someday be. “Just to make sure I’m understanding this correctly. You and Derek, by yourselves, have decided to throw me out of the pack.”
Peter, among others, growl at the notion. The stupid, stupid notion that has been brought forth by the McCall Alpha and Right Hand. If it weren’t for the point of Lydia’s heel digging into his foot, he’d be up and ready to finish what they started that night by the lake. Instead, she gives him a side-eye that says only one thing: Wait.
“We’re not throwing you out, Stiles,” Scott says in an exasperated tone as though Stiles should know that’s not what he’s saying. Except, Peter thinks, that is exactly what he is saying. McCall wants to isolate a packmember. Leave Stiles stranded to fend for himself. A lone wolf is synonymous with a dead wolf. Peter was proof of that for years. Pity that his suffering apparently wasn’t a decent enough example. “We just think it would be best for everyone if maybe you took some time off so you can take care of yourself for a while. All the paranoia and pointing fingers lately has been impacting everyone, even if they don’t want to admit it. It’s not healthy for the Pack or you. There’s plenty of risk in everything we do already, we don’t need this too. You’ve been so much more hostile and uncompromising. It’s almost like the Nogitsune . . . ”
There’s a tick of silence before Stiles knows how to react. He stands there staring blankly at his best friend, his Alpha, his brother, calling him unfit for Pack when Stiles is most responsible for their collective survival thus far. For a brief moment, with the burning of that glint, Peter thinks that they might have finished what was started at the lake. But the glint gets swallowed by something more rich and more unstable and once he knows how to react, he commits.
Stiles laughs.
His whole body vibrates with mirth, holding onto his gut as if unable to stop himself. It’s none-too good-natured, but it’s neither manic nor ungenuine. Peter believes it to be more an uncoiling of something deep in the boy as second by second he’s smelling of sugary satisfaction.
“This certainly does make things easy,” Stiles says, wiping the tears building and sounding all too amused by the whole event. “I really didn’t think either of you would be dumb enough to toss away your Queen.” He snorts again with a good shake of his head in disbelief. For only a moment, Stiles’ eyes catch on Theo’s in the corner of the room. From his vantage point, Peter cannot decipher what the Not-Wolf’s eyes are saying, but Stiles’ eyes speak volumes. Assessing, recalibrating, open to suggestion.“Not even sacrificing your Queen, you just don’t think you need it anymore.”
The Spark’s stare flickers between his ex-best friend and ex-lover. Despite the usual warmth of those eyes, they are mercilessly cold this evening. Their light only returns a fraction after making Scott and Derek both squirm, the pleasure from their discomfort thaws the coldness.
He continues, satisfied.
“But whatever. The game isn’t over yet.” He stretches his arms over his head, stretching out his long limbs and back, cracking a joint somewhere or other. “Want to start prepping for the ritual?” He asks Lydia, offering out his arm for her to latch onto. She stands and takes it readily, happily.
“Lydia, we still have an actual meeting,” Derek says gruffly and Peter can tell that the idiotic Alpha and his Beta are already realizing his error in striving to break apart the Gemini. Peter could laugh at the entire situation; apparently Theo wasn’t the only party that needed warning to start off with. “Where do you think you are going?”
“I’m going to go take care of myself with Stiles,” she says primly.
Scott tilts his head like the confused and unintelligent pup he is. “But, uh, Lyds we kind of need - ”
“If Stiles is taking a sabbatical then so am I,” the Banshee cuts him off with a finality in her voice, her authority practically reverberating through it. “You boys want to play? Fine, but don’t be sore losers when you don’t win.”
“We aren’t playing any games!” Derek barks, obviously not accepting the reality of what he’s done to the Pack.
Peter raises his hand among the staring contests happening. “May I be included in this walk out? Despite my good looks and brawn, I am a researcher as well which should classify me as Bishop at the very least.”
“Yeah, sure,” Stiles agrees with a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe the three of us can start our own black-market business in magic with our new downtime.”
He can’t quite tell if the boy is serious about that comment, even with the joint steady heartbeat, but Peter loves him for it either way.
~~~
“When are we setting up a meeting with Theo?” Lydia asks once they are on the road and away from the room of traitors. Peter abandons his luxury car in favor of hitching a ride in the backseat of the Jeep; Lydia behind the wheel because Stiles is two inconveniences away from homicide. Road rage at its finest. To save some face Peter has his legs kicked out across the entirety of the backseat and lounging in the space like a bed. Truthfully one sharp stop and he’ll be falling on the floor, but he knows that Lydia understands how he’d use his claws on Stiles’ poor car to keep himself upright. He’d pay for the repair later, but she drives nice and slow anyway.
“Already set,” Peter answers to the duo’s surprise. “He had asked for a meeting tonight with only Stiles but - ”
Stiles scoffs, but it’s telling how he’s more tired than angered at this point. “He really has no common sense when it comes to me, huh,” he mumbles, mostly to himself. Even more telling that he nearly sounds fond. An hour ago he was beating the Not-Wolf into the ground, now he speaks in awe about the dirty blonde.
Maybe they are a good match. An unhinged one, but very right for each other.
“Hence why I negotiated time to process and reasonable company. You’ve got tomorrow to stew about, but the next night you’re going to meet him at Kathy’s Diner with Lydia. Only the three of you.”
“Perfect,” Lydia hums.
“Wonderful,” Stiles echoes.
No one dares speak the rest of the way.
~~~
They stay at his apartment that night.
Mostly because McCall and his goons haven’t the slightest idea where Peter lives. There’s a real possibility that Stiles would commit a murder if he had to see any unwanted houseguests for the rest of the day so they are held hostage at the eldest Hale’s home. Once given the rundown of the day’s events, John and Natalie are just as likely to cause homicide but they give him their consent to hide their children away from the world.
He is not ashamed to admit to hiding in the master bedroom for the majority of the night while keeping an ear on the sound of Stiles crying and Lydia comforting. It’s a lot. Shedding an old skin, an old life. Plucking away the stubborn, nostalgic bits that insist on staying. The Wolf cannot blame the Spark for his relapse.
There’s a bit of shouting back and forth, now and then, but he knows they would never hurt each other. Can’t hurt each other.
Peter is not a believer in any God. Never has and never will be given how life has ventured. There is nothing holy watching over them. If there is, then they are a viler being than even Peter.
So he doesn’t know who or what he’s praying to that night, but he prays. He prays to the universe for Theo to be real. He pleads with the Moon to shift her judgment. He begs the stars themselves to spare his Gemini from a destiny anything like his own.
~~~
It’s barely 24 hours later that Peter returns to the loft. He could have gone longer, but he must return for his car eventually. Additionally, since he’s here already, he’s got a hunch that the Reds need some Rowan bark that he may or may not have procured during one of his various trips away. Unfortunately stashed away in his assigned room in his nephew's poor excuse of a living space.
Cooped up in his apartment, the Reds are no longer screaming at one another by now, having kissed and made up, but they are moved to the detached, ruthless planning stages. Listening in now and then, Peter hears plenty of deliciously cruel plans for what to do with McCall. So perhaps he wasn’t explicitly asked for the Rowan bark as of yet. It’d be nice to have handy, though.
One foot across the doorway and he’s met with a pissed off Sourwolf. It’s as though Peter’s very presence summoned the younger man. As though he has materialized from the woodwork to make sure everyone in his vicinity is as miserable as him. Maybe Stiles was onto something with his bells idea.
Nonetheless, Peter has no intention in staying long and it’s clear he’s not very wanted so they should be on the same page. Hypothetically.
“Are you really willing to put peoples lives in danger just so you can be petty?” Derek asks before Peter can fully make it to his room unperturbed.
As though he truly wants Peter to answer such a question. Especially because he knows the answer. As much as Derek wishes to remain stuck in the past, he knows the type of man Peter is now. How dissimilar he is to the man he once was.
How different they are from what they were a lifetime ago.
Peter never blamed him for the fire.
Derek was young and was still grieving from the human girl who had not survived the bite; both were damning factors in how someone as poisonous as Kate Argent slithered her way into his nephew’s life. The guilt of their family did not rest of Derek’s shoulders.
Things that have occurred afterwards is another matter. Peter could even excuse all actions taken up until his own resurrection, but all those decisions after?
Derek wields more pain than any individual should, he has allowed it to consume him so completely that Peter fully believes that the boy, now man, only knows how to live in pain. He breathes, speaks, and acts in it.
It is no longer something to drape in shadows, it is something he lives by; making it part of himself. Wearing his misery so often that it has become like a second skin.
And if that is how his nephew chooses to live, then so be it. It is when Derek unintentionally allows his trauma and anguish to affect and inflict harm on those around - on the only people Peter dare care for - he must draw a line.
“I wonder what your mother would think of you,” Peter says at long last. He stares down over the banister at the last of his family. Derek stiffens at the comment, his face ever-impassive but it’s clear that the words hurt even though Peter still hasn’t even said anything hurtful yet. “Calling Stiles mate and then sticking your dick in any hole that would present itself to you. Throwing away a packmate because they make you uncomfortable with your own actions. I am not the only Hale that has fallen from grace, Derek.”
~~~
Typically, the emotionally allergic man storms off after that last bit. Peter doesn’t have the heart to pretend that he cares.
He isn’t disturbed again for the next twenty minutes that he is in and out of the loft.
~~~
He’d be a hypocrite if he got mad about Stiles using his apartment as a meeting location without his permission, but a hypocrite he is, so Peter glowers at the teenage intruders in his den. However he’s not dense enough to speak out against it. Not with Stiles and Lydia sitting perfectly slotted together, looking ready to create their next war plan.
The duo had just gotten in from their three-hour long dinner date with Theo Raeken, the Not-Werewolf. Peter supposes this is the debriefing seeing as all the gathered Weres’ (and Mason) were notified less than twenty minutes ago to converge at the texted address. Peter’s address. The brats.
“Theo wants a Pack,” the human Spark announces to the room once it seems everyone has shown up. They have a round table setup occurring. Mason, Liam, and Peter are seated on the couch - the boys coming in together mere minutes after the text was sent. There was a moment of surprise on both ends when they knocked on Peter’s door - them not knowing this was Peter’s place and Peter not having his phone on him to know he was expecting guests. At the very least, he’s allowed to not be on the stairs in his own home. Malia rests her head and arms on the coffee table in front of them from the opposite side.
Stiles sits in the armchair beside the couch and Lydia has taken up the space on the floor between his legs. Peter has to ask his Banshee what she has against furniture as of lately. From her spot, she shares space on the coffee table with her Coyote, linking hands together throughout the duration.
Jackson and Ethan parallel the Gemini, only there is no chair for them to share on the other end of their Arthurian coffee table. The boyfriends sit with one another on the floor, waiting attentively.
“Yeah,” Liam growls back.“We knew that already! That doesn’t answer what the fuck he is and what he wants with us!” The Beta’s anger has been flaring terribly since the knife incident. After making the begrudging choice to talk to the twerp, Peter has learned that the whole being lied to for months wasn’t the worst part to him. No, the worst offense to the pup is that Stiles has been right all this time yet no one - not even his pack - listened. Self-inflicted rage. Peter can understand that. He’s been keeping tabs on the kid for that reason alone.
Mason slides a comforting arm around his best friend’s shoulders and slowly pulls the Wolf to lean into him. Quietly, slickly, deviously he snaps his other hand over the feral boy’s mouth. It earns him more than a few smiles and one single glare.
“Hmm,” Peter hums in agreement with the pup’s sentiment though but knows there must be more if Stiles and Lydia were calling a meeting away from their Alpha and a good portion of their Pack.
“He wants a Pack that’s made out of Scott’s,” Lydia adds next.
That gets postures to straighten.
“Meaning?” Ethan asks.
“He wants to overthrow Scott as Alpha of Beacon Hills by taking Scott’s Alpha spark and his Betas,” Stiles answers. “He came to Beacon to kill Scott and steal us so he can form his own pack. With the Dread Doctors.”
Ah.
Well.
That certainly does explain a few pesky details.
Interesting.
Peter leans back in his chair to consider this new information. Not at all surprising but not completely what he had pegged. “And he told you all this? Freely?”
“Yeah,” the boy shakes his head, “we thought that was weird too. But . . . he also said he needed us to come willingly. Specifically me and Lyds.”
“Makes sense,” Malia reasons. “You two are the smartest and deadliest when together. If he fucked either of you over he’d be dead by the end of the week.”
Jackson cuts in, “I’m sorry, are we gonna gloss over the Dread Doctor thing? Those fucking wackjobs that we’ve been skirting for the past month? Because we shouldn’t!”
Lydia and Stiles exchange another one of their looks. “Theo never moved away,” she says, not turning away from her twin as she says it slowly, surely. “He was taken away by the Doctors. One of their experiments.”
Stiles breaks their stare by deviating his attention to his shoes. He scuffs them a little and sighs. Appears his anger has extinguished with enlightenment. “He is one of their experiments,” he ends up agreeing. “A Chimera. The first successful Chimera. From the sounds of it, he’s their errand boy. Some Cinderella type shit, except with more blood and murder. But in this search for his pumpkin carriage, he’s out of time and the clock is striking midnight, so he's letting us know the full truth going forward in hopes that we’ll be prince charming and help him be queen.”
The Banshee smiles sweetly, but everyone knows how dangerous her brand of sweet could be. “He’s stuck. Too many enemies protected in too many spaces. He knows he needs us if he wants to win, so he presented us a deal,” Lydia says simply.
The implications of that one sentence echoes through the room. Everyone goes tense with the realization of it.
“You made a deal to leave Scott and join Theo,” Jackson speaks it into reality.
“No, no, no, nope. We were made an offer," Stiles corrects. "A standing one. A very vertical, very long-lasting one. But, there may have been some negotiation that if we were to leave the McCall Pack we would join the Raeken Pack by helping him become an Alpha. Without killing Scott, of course.”
Damn. Peter understands sentimentality over past friends, but he was hoping the wound would be fresh enough for his Spark to want blood in return. Oh well, he'll do it the Gemini way no matter. “How?” he decides to call into question instead.
Lydia's red stained lips curl ever so slightly at this next piece of news. “Theo and his fellow Chimera Betas found Deucalion wandering through the territory. They have him chained up in their little lair for future use.”
“Is Theo’s evil lair the same as the Dread Doctors?” Mason scrunches his face in exerted concentration. “Because if not then I’m concerned how much sinister real-estate we have available around here.”
A pause in the action as the room chews on that thought.
“Next time, we’re bringing you," Stiles declares, nodding along with his own declaration. "That is a beautiful question that I now need an answer to.”
Despite his unanswered curiosities, Mason grins back shyly at he Spark, proud to have stumped his superior in the Pack.
Malia wears a pained face as her mind floods with facts. “What does that old British dude have to do with turning Theo into - ”
Ethan waves a hand up in the air, cutting off her confusion, to signify a need to slow down. “No. No. There was so much to process in that sentence." He rubs at his forehead. "Go back. How and why is Deucalion in the mix?” A beat of realization with subsequent tension crosses the room. “Relax. This is the man that made me and Aiden eat squirrels when money was slim, but always made steak and potatoes for himself. There’s no fuzzy feelings here. But what is this about Deuc?”
“I guess he wasn’t quite done with Beacon Hills,” Stiles slowly admits to the former Alpha twin. “Wasn’t exactly too happy that a bunch of kids Scooby-Dooed his ass, so he’s back for round two.” A small smirk hiked up on the Spark’s face. “And got caught by the store brand version of the Teenage Mutant Wolves.”
“Someone wanting revenge in Beacon?” Jackson scoffs. “Unheard of.”
“Theo wants to be an Alpha,” Lydia states simply. The unspoken joke of, unheard of, repeats itself silently. “We have the Demon Wolf Alpha at our mercy. It’s not an easy spell, but we’ve completed worse ones. We can make Theo an Alpha. Chimera or not.”
“Yes, but a Chimera of what?” Peter asks. It’s not all that pressing in the grand scheme of things, but knowing what the unnatural hybrid is would be helpful moving forward. “What type of Frankenstein Monstrosity is he?”
Stiles licks at his lips, unexpectedly facing over to Malia as he answers, “Werewolf and Werecoyote.” The girl sits up with perfect posture and her eyes flash at the news. “It makes him unaffected by wolfsbane and mountain ash.”
They let that settle in the air. Mason whispers more to himself than anyone directly, “That feels like cheating.”
Peter must agree.
“This isn’t ideal,” Lydia admits. “Having to rely on someone who is prone to lying like his life depends on it. Because it has.” She pinches Stiles on the thigh as she says this part and he yelps, smacking her fingers away. Apparently she has renewed her subscription to team Theo and bullying her partner in crime into the same.
“But?” Peter prompts.
“But,” Stiles continues. “Scott’s approaches are too idealistic. It’s only a matter of time until he gets one of us killed because he wanted to trust a stranger or to reform serial killer number seventeen. He puts all of us in danger every time he wants to play the hero. I love him, even if it’s not this version of him I love anymore and he will forever be my brother, but that doesn’t allow him to get someone else I care about killed. We’ve all buried enough people.
“So that leaves us and Theo. Neither of which are big fans of Scott at the moment. He’s manipulative and annoying, but he’s working with us. Truthfully, I still think the glorified show dog is just using me and Lyds to get the rest of the rest of you guys to follow.”
“And I think that boy very much wants to use you,” Lydia scoffs. “In many, many positions. But yes, he knows as of right now he doesn’t have the force or backing to defeat the McCall Pack. Which is why he needs us and all those that are loyal to us. Plus with our knowledge of the supernatural world and our ties to it, he suddenly has the advantage. Case in point, Stiles and I have our weekly check in with Chris Argent tomorrow and plan on asking permission on behalf of our new Pack to challenge the current Alpha residing on the Hale land.”
“Which he will agree to,” Peter adds knowingly.
Very select members of the McCall Pack keep tabs on the still grieving hunter, but Peter himself knows that Stiles and Lydia had been determined to keep the man alive and living as his daughter would wish for. He knows this because he and Chris get drinks once a month despite neither of them liking bars all too much, and the reformed hunter always has new yet fond complaints about how the duo made him sign up as an instructor for shooting classes or set him up on blind dates.
Chris is irreversibly broken from loss, but he is trying. And they all know it’s only because the Gemini forced him to pull the pieces of himself back together. Just enough so he is able to endeavor rebuilding a life. Ready to remold however he sees fit.
“We’re also going to talk to the Ito Pack for an alliance.”
Liam makes a disgusted noise from behind the hand.
Stiles rolls his eyes at the non-communicative interruption. “I know, Liam. But we need allies and whether we like it or not, Brett’s Pack is the only ones around to side with us.”
“The Buddhist?” Ethan asks. “You think the Buddhists are going to sign up to be buddies with us? Do you know how many blue-eyes are in this room?”
“Yeah,” Mason answers. At first they believe the darker-skinned boy to be agreeing with the blond, but when he speaks next they realize he’s giving the answer. “She will. We can talk to Brett,” the boy offers him and his gagged best friend who makes an even louder noise of disgust at the suggestion. “If we convince him, he’ll convince Satomi. I know it.”
A wrinkle pops up between Stiles’ brows. “You don’t have to do that. We can make our own - ”
“Let us be helpful,” Mason interrupts. He lets go of Liam and casually wipes his palm on the leg of his pants as he continues. “We want to be useful to you. I get you guys are the pros and all that, but we are part of this too. Aren’t we?”
Stiles and Lydia both purse their lips at the question. “Well that’s kind of why we are having this meeting,” Stiles answers disjointedly, clearly seeking the right words. “So no one has to make a split decision when the time comes. Because the time is coming and I don’t want any one of you to regret your choices.”
“You and Lydia already decided,” Peter points out. It hardly matters that they haven’t officially accepted Theo’s offer. The Gemini will not return to the True Alpha’s Pack. Another bit of gossip Peter cannot wait to introduce to the supernatural scene.
“We already knew something like this was going to happen. Not exactly this, but we have talked about it before. We made our best judgment based on previous considerations.”
An alarming yip is released from Mason as he withdraws his hand from his best friend’s oral cavity. Liam smiles to the room triumphantly. “Your best judgments keep people alive,” are his first words of freedom.
“I either go with you guys or go back to nature,” Malia agrees with the boy's notion in her own way. “I’m not doing this human thing for Scott.”
Jackson laughs at Stiles’ taken aback expression. “It’s adorable that two geniuses like you can’t figure out that we’ll follow wherever you go.” Ethan agrees by taking his boyfriend's hand, soothing his thumb over the other boy’s knuckles, and nodding along. “You’re Pack. Not McCall. We are yours. We follow you.”
~~~
Plans are created, mended, and called to action. Prepped and armed with the right sort of protection, they venture into the Preserve later that same day. It’s becoming tedious how many conference calls they have been making lately but hopefully that time is coming to a curtain close.
He was right to retrieve the Rowan wood. Part of the spell they are collecting for - that must be completed at the Nemeton because where else would life lead them than back to the curse tree - required the burning of the bark. A couple of other, more accessible, ingredients were needed but at least he didn’t have to endure a forced family reunion to get them.
Instead, they reunite with Theo for the first time since Stiles’ expulsion from the Pack. He’s standing with his fists in his pockets appearing as untouchable and punchable as ever. Behind him, anchored down to the magical tree stump plaguing their lives, is the Demon Wolf himself. It’s odd how motionless his body is even with all the wolfsbane laced rope wrapped around essentially every body part possible. His glasses are gone and his clothes are completely disheveled. Rather unusual for the gentlemen. Then again, Peter wouldn’t like to be judged on appearance after a month of being held hostage.
“Hello Honey,” Theo greets . . . well not them, but acknowledging Stiles is about as much of an acknowledgement the whole of them will receive.
Stiles smiles. “Hello freak.”
The Spark moves past the fake Beta and goes straight to the Alpha that’s securely tied down to the vast tree trunk.
Theo pouts to mask what Peter thinks to be actual sulking over how much progress he had lost with Stiles. “Don’t be like that, Honey. I said I was sorry.”
“And I said that if you called me Honey again I’d shove a baseball bat made of mountain ash up your ass.”
“I like a challenge.”
Jackson makes a mocking gagging noise as he appears from the treeline alongside Peter and Ethan. The former Kanima nearly drops the tote bag he carries for the Reds during his performance. Ethan looks more amused than anything else, “And you say that Derek needs a new threat. Do you promise all the guys baseball equipment assplay?”
“Could you possibly,” a British accent butts in, “kill me now so I don’t have to stomach this miserable small talk?”
No one pays him any attention.
“So how does this work?” Theo asks. He moves his gaze across everyone in attendance. Peter wonders if he knew the Gemini was bringing all of them. He wonders more how many people Theo actually brought with him.
Not to underestimate his future leader, but he doubts Theo lugged the Demon Wolf out here by himself.
“We have some set up to do, but this should be over relatively quickly.” Lydia steps up beside Stiles, staring down at Deucalion like a science experiment. “Do you want to tie him in the maze wrappings or cover the Nemeton in rabbit blood first?”
The cutely disguishing upturned nose scrunches in thought. “Get the tying done first, just in case. Thumper’s blood is still warm and I don’t want to vomit before doing this.”
On cue, Jackson opens up the tote and pulls out a plastic baggy stuffed with soggy corn husks. Brewing them was probably the easiest part of the prep. Simmered in water, salt, and sage under the moonlight for one night’s cycle. Purification. Nothing more to it.
Stiles takes the bag from Jackson and hands Lydia a couple of dripping strips to start with. He pulls out more to hand over to Theo. “Get to work, Alpha.”
Gold eyes flash and that signature smirk falls away a bit with a low rumble in his chest. “Alphas don’t take orders.”
“But they do listen to their mates.”
Jackson goes back to gagging. Stiles throws a wet corn husk at him. They get to work.
Peter, Jackson, and Ethan all stand around the clearing acting as protection. It wouldn’t be bizarre to hear McCall or his puppies running around the woods. Being interrupted during this process just wouldn’t do.
The man they are tying up for a second time attempts to heckle the three of them out of concentration. For the most part, they do a good job not engaging, though Peter knows Stiles is filing away a slew of clever quips for later. A snide comment about said brunette giving it up to any Alpha interested earns him a claw to the ankle, tearing away both skin and muscle, with Theo then working a tight knot around the open wound.
Not enjoying the silent treatment any longer, Deucalion tries again but with a different audience.
“I heard what happened to Aiden,” the Demon Wolf makes his own small talk - sightless vision set on where Ethan is standing in the magical stump’s clearing. The boy shuts his eyes at the reminder. “Quite a shame, I always thought you’d be the first one dead due to your own thoughtlessness. The only reason you ever stood a chance was because of his ruthlessness. He was stronger in every way, after all.”
The only sound left for the next second is Theo scoffing at the sentimental jab.
“This ritual needs him alive,” Lydia’s voice resounds through the silence. An acknowledgement of what has been said, but not to the man who had spoken. She peers over her shoulder to promise, “But it will hurt very, very badly.”
Opening his eyes again, Ethan nods along with a predator smirk. “Then that’s all that matters.”
“What next,” Theo asks once the corn is secure and Stiles finishes up pouring the rabbit blood on the wood beneath Deuc. The Chimera has no perception of personal space; standing far too close to the Spark almost the entire time.
Stiles hums in thought, warm amber meeting head on with ocean blue. “Peter,” Stiles calls out for the older Wolf even though he never breaks contact with the Chimera. “You want the Alpha Spark?”
The next moment occurs in a single instance.
Jackson’s tail strikes the bushes with precision. There’s an angry hissing and then a body comes crashing out of the fauna. A girl snarls from where she’s left immobile on the forested ground, her body twitching violently from the strain of fighting the Kanima venom now in her bloodstream.
Ethan swipes his claws at the air next to and this one crashes with a yelp. Fascinatingly, this boy appears out of thin air, landing hard on his ass. He grips the new wound on his arm, whimpering a little. The solo twin strides in close leaving the vanishing boy no room to run.
Stillness echoes across the area as they all stand in wait. The only break in silence is the frankly disrespectful chuckle Deucalion gives from his place tied to the magical stump. Continually, no one pays him mind.
“Smart of you not to bring, Hayden,” Lydia compliments from where she’s casually lacing the last of the extra maze stocks together around the Nemeton. It’s unneeded, but better to be over prepared than under. She looks at the Beta Hybrid they haven’t sworn full allegiance to yet. “If we had brought Liam then he would have sniffed her out immediately.”
“Nice trap,” Theo compliments back, much too calm.
“Could say the same for you,” Stiles counters. “What’s the choice, Peter?”
Instead, Peter focuses his vision on the boy he’s been brought back to observe this whole time. A warning sent from Ethan about a new wedge inserting itself into the cracks of the McCall Pack has led them here. Peter having rule over whether the wedge fits in among the broken pieces or not. He stares at his mirror image and Theo stares right on back. There’s some panic in there, along with desperation. His plans are all falling apart right before him and Peter is now his only hope.
He’s lucky that they share very similar, very pretty, very powerful weak spots.
“Like I once said, sweetheart, loyalty does have meaning to me,” Peter finally responds. “I think I like my new ranking as advisor just fine.”
Stiles’ shoulders settle more comfortably and he finally turns around to smirk at the older Wolf. “I was really hoping you’d say that.” The panic dissipates and Theo is relieved, renewed when there’s no blip in the Spark’s heart at the admission. Even though he offered, the boy was wishing for a rejection.
Ethan puts his claws away and lends the vanishing boy a hand. “You good? I didn’t get you too bad, did I?”
“No,” the younger boy answers timidly, dusting himself off. “I should be okay.”
A strangled voice further into the trees covering the forest clearing calls out, “Should I come out now?”
“Yes, Josh,” Stiles answers before Theo does. Surprise is written all over dear Theodore’s face. It gets rearranged into a picture of composure. The petty smirk on the brunette’s speaks volumes for his thoughts on that facial slip. “You can come out now. We’re all very trusting of each other, and gonna play nice with one another, right?”
Though when ‘Josh,’ another teenage boy with floppy brown hair and dark eyes, comes into view meekly by himself Stiles seems to be waiting for more. “Where’s the other one?” he asks, losing a bit of that cocky smile, scanning around suspiciously.
“What other one?” Theo questions, his expression curious, but not revealing if the Spark is right or wrong in his assumption.
“Because I remember being chased by something that’s not him,” the Spark waves a hand at the new arrival. “Where’s Donovan?”
Having some knowledge back in his court only, Theo grins - teeth on full display. “Exactly,” he answers, “he went after you. I had to set an example.”
“Donovan is no longer with us,” Josh pipes up. He doesn’t sound too broken up about his packmember disappearing.
Meanwhile, Jackson and Lydia crouch down around the hissing girl.
“The toxins are in our keratin, the stuff that make up our claws and scales,” he informs her. Wordlessly, although not soundlessly, she continues to violently wiggle around on the ground like a pissed off worm. She doesn't seem to be in a very chatty mood. “Actually, from the looks of it’s just your tail. Those claws are of a Wolf, and trust me that is an advantage. Our venom isn’t in our blood or anything like that, so it can still affect us. Nick yourself by accident then you're down for the count just like anybody else." The slow, evil rise to the corners of his mouth cause her to snarl worse than before. "Don’t worry, I had to learn that the hard way too.”
“Fuck you,” she spits.
“Tracy!” Theo growls. The girl pulls a face.
“This is the antidote,” Lydia goes back to the conversation like nothing else had been said. The paralyzed girl hushes up when the Banshee speaks. After all, the other girl has been kind enough to help with her sleeping issues and school life.
Knowing how the redhead had the keenness to be keeping an eye on a sudden, rapid change in her classmate leaves Peter with a proud swell in his chest. How clever they were to recognize a familiar pattern. The last suspicious personality changes that took place in Beacon Hills students were tied intricately with the Supernatural. Erica’s instant comfort in her no longer sickly body, Isaac’s new sense of predatory rather than prey, Boyd’s newly planted willingness to be in the limelight. The Gemini have been piecing together this Chimera mess all along, working in the shadows where Scott doesn’t dare look.
Lydia holds up a little vial of liquid that Peter had a hand in producing. “It’s best to keep a couple of these handy in case you nick the wrong party. Or yourself.” Jackson helps the immobile girl sit up so that the Banshee can feed her the drink. Lizard girl doesn’t open up at first, still none too happy at being bested, but what does the trick is when Lydia drags a hand down the girl’s cheek to rest it on her chin. Trap more flies with honey.
As Tracy gulps down her medicine, the blond does the unexpectedly kind thing of proposing, “I can tell you some other stuff I’ve learned about Kanima, if you want. God knows I let the brainiacs do enough experimenting with me to have some strangely needed answers. It’s really not that bad once you get to know yourself.”
“Whatever,” she replies, the vial empty as it leaves her lips, but it’s easy to tell that there’s a spark of interest. A desire to know her new self better. It’s unlikely that any of them have received proper education or training from the Dread Doctors, a fact that Lydia smartly suggested they hone in on. They’ll want answers and information, and the former McCall packmembers have those in spades.
Jackson stays on the ground with his fellow Kanima even when the Banshee stands back up. “Let’s begin the ritual, then,” Lydia announces. She ties up her hair and takes her position at the head of their sacrifice, Deucalion smirking skyward.
“I thought Wolves get power by killing each other,” the Chameleon says, voice hushed. Peter isn’t completely sure if he's attempting to be heard. He’s not sure the boy knows either.
“Normally,” Peter decides to begin answering him anyway. He sees a bit of Stiles in him when the boy physically jumps at being addressed. Cute. “Slashing his throat would be more than suitable. The Alpha Spark would redistribute itself to whatever Wolf was strong enough to take down its owner. As you may be able to tell, that gets far more complicated in our case.”
“Why?” Josh asks.
“Because Theo isn’t a real Wolf.” Jackson gets himself a snarl at that blatant truth. “Hey, I’m a Hybrid too. I’m probably no better.”
Lydia hums in thought. “Slightly better if only because a born Wolf turned you. In addition, you aren’t split perfectly down the middle. You’re more Kanima than Wolf.”
Once upon a time, at the very start of this, Peter knows that Jackson would have thrown a hissy fit over being told he is less than someone else. Always so eager to prove he is the complete package and more. To have heard someone call him no purebred prize, but a defect to discard instead, would have been grounds for a bloodbath.
Now, years of trauma and rescue later, the rich brat nods along in acquiesce with a blasé but relaxed facial expression. He has no qualms with who he is anymore.
Jackson Whittemore: former broken thing made whole again by love of all varieties, willing pawn of the Gemini and fierce protector of his self-made family.
“There’s also the matter of former Pack present in the area,” Peter signals to Ethan. “There’s always the chance that the Alpha Spark latches onto someone more recognizable and who has handled being an Alpha before.”
“This ritual is a bit arcadic,” Lydia admits. “But it’ll do what we need it to; transfer the Spark directly where we want it to go.”
Stiles passes over his own, larger, vial for Theo to take. Despite how there was no hesitancy on the Were’ end to take whatever it is that Stiles hands him, the jaded teen lists off the ingredients. “Fae tears, ground unicorn horn, a juiced Eden fig, and Banshee blood. Smoked with rowan bark.” Popping the cap off, Theo sniffs at the brew. He pulls a face but smooths his features back out with a shrug before bringing the slim container to his lips. Stiles stops him. “You and him both have to drink a whole 30 milliliters. Like, lick the fucking bottle type of situation, and you aren’t allowed any chasers. After that there’s no going back.”
“Good,” Theo answers then downs the vial like a shot.
Huffing at the dramatics, Stiles rolls his eyes and goes back to the Nemeton. Like a horny shadow Theo strolls after him.
The next part is much less simple, with Jackson and Peter prying the Demon Wolf’s bastard mouth open so that Lydia can pour the same brew down his throat. More fumbling around leads to the drink dealt with and they move on to the last stage. Performing the ritual.
Stiles takes his stand at Deuc’s feet the same way Lydia takes hers at the head. “You might want one or two of your Build-A-Friends to restrain you for this. It’s not just gonna hurt middle-aged edgelord.”
“Try having open-heart surgery at nine years old,” Theo replies. “I can handle a little pain.” Stiles shrugs in a fine-suit-your-stupid-self type of way. The temporary Beta smiles as he tacks on, “I wouldn’t mind a good luck kiss, though.”
The Spark patronizingly pats the Were’s cheek. “Keep your promise and we’ll see what that gets you. Now, on your knees.”
“You’ll never have to tell me twice.”
And Theodore does, in fact, drop to his knees in front of Stiles all while beaming playfully up with those stormy blue at the tall brunette. That earns a laugh from the majority of the blended Pack present.
“Cute,” Stiles drawls in a manner Peter can hear himself saying. What a good boy. “Now turn around and face the right way.”
Theo dares to lay a hand on Stiles’ waist, flirting his fingers under the boy’s t-shirt. “Looks pretty right from where I’m sitting.”
“Is this what the rest of our lives is gonna be like? Because I can still give the Alpha Spark to Peter.”
“Can we please - ”
Tracy swishes her tail out and stabs Deuc in the jaw. They hear bones sickeningly crack and dislocate and blood gushes from his cheek the second she flicks her tail back out. What’s left is a gaping, gory hole on the side of the older man’s face, teeth falling out from the vacantness. He chokes on his pain, moaning and shrieking in place but it's all gibberish. Even with advance healing of an Alpha Werewolf he’s going to be wordless for the next few minutes.
“Oh, we’re going to like you,” Peter says to the girl. She doesn’t appear all that thrilled by the sentiment, but that’s fine. Blending families together is always rough at the start.
“Theo, turn around so we can get this over with,” she demands.
Said boy frowns at the demand, but before he can berate his Beta for it Stiles says, “If you argue with her, you are never getting laid.”
“You’re lucky you’re my weakness,” Theo exhales and spins around on his knees to face Lydia on the other side of the Nemeton. Somehow knowing what else he needs to do without being told, he leans forward to lay both hands on the stump.
“And you’re lucky you’re mine,” Stiles replies.
“Ready to start now?” Lydia asks.
Stiles nods. “I’ll take your lead, oh great Goddess of the veil.”
Lydia begins with a chant that she reads from the book she now carries, also loaded in the tote of magical miscellaneous things. Peter can recognize a select few of the words to know it’s Latin and it’s a plea to Mother Moon herself, but the whole of it is lost on the older Wolf. Simultaneously to his delight and regret, Lydia has always been a better linguist than him.
The first indication of the spell’s effect is the sudden increase of wind in the clearing. It’s such a subtle detail he doesn’t doubt many of them miss it. There’s a phenomenon with magic that the veterans of them know intimately. In truth, most spells don’t have flashy processes. You don’t know the casting is going right until it is complete. This is also why there tends to be mishaps with many magic users. Before you know you’ve done it wrong, it’s already complete and now you must live with the consequences. However, after stumbling your way through a copious amount of rituals you’ll notice there’s a certain tingle in the air present. A sign that you are, at the very least, doing something. Peter has heard Stiles refer to it as “the witchy vibes” taking hold.
Magic is for the patient.
Conceivably why not many Wolves utilize alchemy.
Theo starts to get concerned at the prolonged performance, each muscle of his body tightening with tension as he waits. Right as he appears irked enough to say something, pale hands rest themselves on his shoulder. Without jeopardizing his part in the ritual, the Chimera looks up at Stiles. Stiles looks back and the smile he gives is down right sinful.
Then those full lips start to move and layer another chant over Lydia’s. Also Latin, but the only word Peter can decipher is believe.
It takes minutes of the Banshee and Spark reciting their lines before anything visible happens.
The husks begin to furl into themselves until they wilt and decay in rapid time. Josh and the Chameleon cling onto one another, the younger of them gripping the other’s bicep and the slightly older of them gently holding that clutching hand, watching on together with baited breath. They must be especially new to this lifestyle. Peter finds himself sharing an exclusive look with Jackson across the way, finding entertainment in the spooked pups. Catching their attention, Jackson throws a haughty wink at the two of them before he refocuses on the momentous occasion occurring right before their eyes.
Stiles and Lydia finally find an end to their chanting.
Instantaneously, Theo and Deucalion start screaming.
Deucalion roars at whatever torment the spell is causing him. There’s no doubt that his body would be thrashing on the tree trunk if not for the Kanima venom currently coursing through his veins. Peter only hopes that he can feel every inch of that stolen Alpha power extracted.
Hunched forward in pain, Theo digs his clawed hands into the wood of the Nemeton as he gains the right amount of control to cease the shocked cries of pain but he huffs and puffs from the agony.
Theo blinks. Yellow.
He blinks. Yellow.
He blinks. Red.
The wind falls dead.
In a blur, they witness red-eyed Theo slam Stiles into the nearest tree, pinning the pale boy with his full body.
Peter goes to intervene when Ethan blocks his path. The blond raises a palm and brow at Peter’s action, as though he expected better from the man. And maybe he does have a bit of clouded vision when it comes to his favorite things. After a moment of consideration, during his time as Alpha, he does recall that first surge of power. How all things are intensified. Wants become needs. Even at the very start of this, it’s been evident how much Theo wants Stiles. So when Peter pays attention without thoughtlessly charging ahead, he finds that Theo is attacking the Spark. With his mouth. There’s teeth and biting and Peter smells a small trace of blood, but it comes from both ends.
“Boys,” Lydia huffs in frustration then addresses the crowd. “Alright, we’ll sort out the Pack structure later once these perverts stop pawing at one another.” She puts her hands on her hips Kicking at the lifeless body of a once powerful enemy. “Ethan, do you want anything with this?”
The twin considers it but ultimately rejects the offer. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Fine. Tracy?” Lydia calls to her new packmate. The darker haired girl cocks her head and sways a hand on her hip as she tunes in on the Banshee. “Would you like to help Jackson dispose of the body? I have a feeling where Theo will want to slot you in our redesigned hierarchy and this would be a wonderful learning opportunity.”
“Why am I on clean up duty?” Jackson whines like a child. Peter is surprised he didn’t stomp his foot as well.
“Would you fucking leave already,” Stiles hisses at them as Theo removes his mouth from his just so he can start leaving marks on that long pale neck. The Alpha is pawing at him aggressively, though that fist the Spark has in Theo’s hair appears no less forceful. It’s a give and take between them.
Jackson has a snide response, because of course he does, but Peter roams away with nothing more than a nod to Lydia and a smirk to Tracy, having a feeling that he and the new Were’ girl are going to have a very interesting relationship moving forward. He and his Banshee most probably have a similar role in mind for the genetically modified half Kanima, half Werewolf. Peter has no qualms training her.
But he really should be leaving now.
There’s some things a father doesn’t want to see. Even if only as a step-father.
~~~
Unfortunately, due to the Gemini’s sharedness, Peter must wear his custom made noise-canceling headphones for the night.
Stiles’ blood is pumping, therefore so is Lydia’s. A miscalculation on his part. Especially since they respectively have keys to his apartment and know he’s one of the only adults not overly protective or interested in their sexual exploits.
Luckily for Peter, only Lydia uses his home as a bachelorette pad that night.
And luckier for the wailing woman, Malia doesn’t seem to mind scratching that skin deep itch of hers.
Never let anyone tell you Peter Hale doesn’t make sacrifices. His beauty sleep has suffered sufficiently for these damn kids as proof.
~~~
It’s a good morning.
The girls stopped moaning around four a.m., so they slept in late. Peter is first awake at 8 a.m. because he truly isn’t an idle man. He shoots John a text giving vague information about last night's events and promises a more exhaustive explanation if he comes to the Wolf’s apartment. He hums happily to himself around the kitchen when he gets an affirmative.
By the time the Sheriff arrives the girls are up, but not truly awake. Lydia in particular is dead on her feet - oh the irony. Perhaps a romp-filled night of fun was too much for her after such a draining ritual. Stiles better come home armed with apologies. John dutifully checks in on each girl before he finds Peter in the kitchen, earning a kiss on the cheek from the Banshee and a minute of careful scenting from the Coyote.
It’s been so long since Peter had had someone to kiss good morning. It’s odd but in a way he believes he enjoys. A simple pleasure that he once thought he was well beyond having.
Over a plate of eggs, sausage, and toast they go over the rundown of the past current events and perceived future of the Pack.
It’s telling that John doesn’t so much as blink twice at some of the more bold plans set in motion.
“So where exactly is my son?” John questions an hour into the talk. It’s funny how he picks up another piece of sausage while asking about the health conscious boy.
The human boy and new Alpha still have not been seen. If not for the assurance that Theo is staunchly obsessed with Stiles, Peter’d be more worried. But one night of dirty fun isn’t a large concern. In fact, it’s good. Deserved. In addition to being a long-time coming.
Peter moves the processed dish of meat to the other side of the counter where the man can’t reach. “If I tell you where he is, I’ll have to tell him about the copious amounts of sausage you’ve been ingesting.”
John snorts at that. True to his Stilinski nature, he proves he didn’t really need to ask the initial question at all. “Theo?”
The Wolf hums along, thinking over his words carefully. John takes a bite out of his stolen sausage while he waits. “As it turns out, he’s not a pod person. Serial killer, yes. But pod person, no.”
The Sheriff pauses mid-chew. Instead of the concern he should show at this information, he asks a familiar question, “Is he being safe?”
Peter is going to wife this man up the moment he can. The moment they have enough peace in their lives to do so.
“As safe as chaos incarnate can be.” The man hums back in some sort of acceptance. The Wolf thinks about his next answer, and knows he shouldn’t say it but it’s far too good not to. “Far less vanilla than before, though.”
“Alright, I didn’t need to know that part,” John sighs, dropping his stick of processed meat. Peter smiles slyly but makes no further comment. “I take it I’ve got a new son-in-law coming around eventually?”
Keys jingle in the lock to Peter’s front door. Considering that Malia and Lydia are having a nice breakfast in the living room while John stands before him at this current moment, there’s little option to who is here.
The sound of the door opening and Malia yelling, “Hell yeah, get it!” only confirms who has entered.
“Speak of the Spark.”
Peter leads John out the kitchen to join the party in the den. Lydia and Malia once again are sat on the carpet rug in front of Peter’s coffee table as they pick apart their food. As it also happens to turn out, the Banshee has nothing against furniture. Malia does. Which he really should have been able to piece together. Of course Lydia only lowers herself for love. Stiles is taking his shoes off in the entryway, Theo tagging along right behind him.
Thanking Mother Moon and all Her light, Peter can tell that they have both washed themselves of any previous activity they participated in prior. Although, water won’t wash away the fact that Stiles looks partially mauled at the neck, at least Peter can stand in the same room without plugging his nose. The boy also wears a sweater and a pair of jeans Peter has never seen in his closet before that smells distinctly of hydrangeas and an unnamable sharp tartness. The very same as their newborn Alpha.
John appears equal parts impressed and disturbed. “Christ, kid. Were you attacked?”
“I mean, yes, but in a fun way.”
“Got that out of your systems, then?” Lydia snidely asks. The redhead has some bags hanging from her eyes and cherry flavored annoyance in her scent. It’s eleven in the morning and she still hasn’t changed from her pajamas. She is tired.
Stiles winces when he takes her in and mouths an apology. Theo doesn’t seem nearly as remorseful, a proud smirk unabashedly stitched on his face.
“You were driving her crazy last night,” Malia laughs at the Banshee’s exhausted state. “She was horny almost the whole time. I got to eat her out so much.”
“Okay,” John interjects, waving his hand to put an end to that conversation. “I don’t know what Peter lets you get away with talking about in the apartment, but for my heart’s sake no locker room talk.”
Other than Lydia’s exasperation, the room is lit with a bubbly kind of energy even if the other’s can’t tell what it’s from. Excitement. Change. Victory.
The further into the room the pair make it, the more Peter can sense the claim among them. It takes him more than a moment to find what he knows to be true, but he finds it. Covered where the collar of the sweater sits on the skin of his neck, Peter can make out angry red imprints. He must flare his eyes at the sight because Theo flashes his new Wolf eyes back in challenge.
Sue him, Peter’s gotten a tad possessive of his Gemini.
“Relax,” Stiles shifts to protect the new Alpha with his body. His new mate. Who knew John really was becoming an in-law so soon? “It was all consensual. Abrupt and . . . admittedly kinda great but most importantly very, very consensual. No one has to fight for my honor.”
Theo heeds no warning for his safety and hooks his chin over Stiles’ healing shoulder. Sure hands run themselves up and down the Spark’s flanks lovingly. “It’s the start of me keeping my promise,” he sweetly kisses the fresh bite.
Despite how his full body shivers under Theo's actions, the slightly taller boy snorts at the comment. “Giving me a permanent hickey so does not count as a ring.”
Peter thinks Theo shrugs but it’s hard to tell with the Alpha wrapped around Stiles’ back. “Same results. You're mine now.” Peter can practically hear the unspoken “forever” in there. From the way Stiles melts further into the Chimera’s touch, he hears it too.
“You are not weaseling your way out of getting me an actual goddamn ring. And a proposal.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you a ring you deserve after Scott and the others are dealt with.”
“Proposal! You forgot the proposal part!”
Theo laughs at his mate's antics. “Yes, Honey.”
“Oh?” John pipes in. They all turn to the human man who has his arms crossed tight against his chest and the lines on his face become more pronounced because of the deep frown he’s got on. “And when should I expect the wedding invite?”
“Whenever he decides it's time,” Theo answers. Which is very nonspecific. He doesn’t appear all that threatened by his future father-in-law, but he does speak with a clipped sort of respect.
His new lover starts an actual explanation. Stiles tells his dad, “Right before he left Beacon Hills, Theo came to see me one last time.”
“I had to say goodbye. With everything that happened with Claudia and . . . Tara, I couldn’t leave without saying anything.”
“So we met at the treehouse one last time. Theo swore he’d come back.”
“And I did.”
“And that he’d marry me.”
“Oh, Honey, I’m planning on it.”
“And we’d move far away from here,” Stiles stresses this last bit, turning in Theo’s arms to look at the slightly shorter boy. The Alpha continues to hold the taller teen tight, while meeting his meaningful gaze. “Promised to take me somewhere by the water.”
They lose their beat after that one, Theo missing his cue in favor of mull over his plans. His eyes search his mate’s face for answers. His own face remaining ever neutral but the Doctor’s experiment obviously didn’t think that was going to be a part of the promise he needed to keep. Desires to dominate the place that took everything from him. Another aspect of Theo that Peter understands all too well.
He wants Beacon Hills.
Almost as though he needs to touch the Spark at all times, Theo takes the paler hand into his own and purposefully scents the glands there. Stiles touches back by rubbing his thumb across the Were’s knuckles.
That seems to do the trick. He wants Stiles more.
“If you don’t want Beacon Hills, then we can find somewhere else. I’ll make it work. We’ll find a better stomping ground all on our own.”
“So where does that leave us?” Lydia questions before taking another bite of her strawberry jam toast. She bats her eyelashes slyly at the two boys.
“It leaves us with a Pack filled of blue-eyes and half-breeds. No one will stand against us. Not if they’re smart.”
“Which means Scott will try to stand against us,” Malia sighs.
After swallowing her bite, Lydia says, “Probably, but he won’t have a leg to stand on if all goes as planned.”
“I imagine the Dread Doctors won’t be too pleased with this mutiny,” Peter comments with a glance at Theo.
“Understatement,” the Chimera concedes.
“So then how do we handle them?” John asks.
The boy stolen and raised by the aforementioned maniacs exhales heavily through his nose. This can’t be his first attempt at escape or revolt. Not with the personality traits this kid has. So it begs the question of what has failed before and what were the consequences. “They can control electromagnetic fields and have experimented enough with creatures of every variety to make a serum that prolongs their lifecycle. If you go after one, you have to get through them all or else they’ll use the serum to restore each other. The Surgeon is going to be the hardest to take care of,” Theo tilts his head in consideration.
“Oh,” Stiles perks up. “Me and Lyds got that part covered.” Receiving questioning looks, and some impressed ones since there’s no blip in his heart, he continues with a confident smirk. “We did some light B&E to get some books from that little science lab of theirs. Found out about Marcel, the Surgeon,” Stiles makes quotations around the name, “and his bestie, Seb. See, being ancient and powerful doesn’t make something unkillable, even if that’s what it wants you to think. They want a touching reunion with the Beast of Gevaudan right?”
Peter takes a sharp breath. Theo nods in confirmation and Peter would have liked to know this information sooner. The monsters are chasing a ghost story. How fittingly grotesque.
“We can give him to them.”
“That can’t possibly be a good idea,” Peter says.
“It can be when the person possessing the Beast already has one foot in our Pack,” the Banshee says with the same confidence as her other half. Lydia rises from the floor and sways her way over to the new couple. “Right under our noses all this time. And he’s so willing to prove himself worthy of joining our cause. He’ll say yes to the transformation.”
“And to helping tie up loose ends,” Stiles says. “So long as we can transform him back. Which we can. Only downside is that we’ll have to expel the spirit afterwards so it doesn’t pull a Nogitsune. As cool as having the legit Beast of Gevaudan in our Pack, I think I rather have Mason as he is.”
~~~
The hard part is over.
It’s time for the fun part to start. Peter has been looking forward to this day for sometime now.
“Scott!” Theo cries into his cellphone.
He’s surrounded by his non-official Betas: Peter, Jackson, Ethan, and Liam. Peter does wish they could have done this someplace other than the hollowed out house he’s been burned, buried, and resurrected in.
But it’s a good landmark.
Lydia had been right on several accounts. Mason did have the Beast trapped within him. The younger boy was also very adamant about wanting to help his Pack in whatever way he could despite the stink of his citrus nerves. His Pack. Theo’s Pack.
Another devoted human.
Peter is beginning to come around to the species.
Selling his vocal performance, Theo hunches slightly into himself and takes large gasping breaths. “You have to get to the preserve right now! At the Hale house. Something’s wrong! I need your help, you have to come right! Scott, do you hear - ” He abruptly hangs up the call. Standing back up tall, he slips the phone into the back pocket of his jeans as though he hadn’t just given the performance of a lifetime.
Peter and Ethan clap.
Their Alpha smirks, giving them a small bow. “He’ll be here in no more than fifteen minutes,” he states after. “Are we all set?”
Liam pulls out his own phone and relaxes at whatever message has been sent to him. “Lydia got Mason to transform and untransform. Mission accomplished. They’re on their way now.”
“What wonderful timing,” Peter says gleefully. Today might be his favorite day. “Places everyone.”
~~~
“THEO!”
Scott is heard before he is seen. Not a very tactical puppy. Yelling into the unknown his clear distress, barreling into the scene headfirst without any forethought.
He skids to a stop when he sees who is waiting for him instead.
“Peter!” Scott cries out at the sight of his least favorite Beta in the last known location to his newest Beta. Well, former Beta but they all wanted a little flare for that reveal.
“Scott!” Peter cries back in mockery. He’s been patiently sitting on what's left to be considered the house’s porch, legs crossed in front of him and leaning back casually on his palms. “How nice of you to make it. Only,” he shifts his weight so he can look at his watch on his left hand, “twenty minutes late. My, Theo had too high of expectations for you.”
The True Alpha snarls, “What have you done with him?”
“What makes you believe that I’ve done anything to our dear Theodore?”
The others begin to emerge from the woods; Isaac already in Beta shift, Derek following close behind Scott. Peter’s only mildly surprised his nephew hadn’t gotten here first. But then he remembers that Theo was the one sending the distress signal. Against popular belief, Derek is hypocritical enough that he’d be slow for the rescue of his ex-lover’s new flame. Jackson and Ethan also weed their way out of the treeline, appearing as though Scott had been the one to summon them like the rest.
“This isn’t a joke, Peter,” Derek warns.
“To you, maybe not,” the older Wolf rebuttals, yet is unable to wipe the smile from his lips. “But this is the best punchline of my life.”
McCall grows tired of this pastime rather suddenly, losing his little Alpha temper preemptively. “Where’s - ”
Cue the large black Wolf running into and through the group. Sleek fur and bright blue eyes. You could almost mistake him for Derek’s evolved form, though Peter wishes they would call it something else. Derek is the least evolved person in Beacon Hills, no matter how far he thinks he has come on his Pokémon journey. Catching all the damaged teenagers he desired along the way.
The large beast trots confidently towards the herd of supernatural misfits. Scott, in his stupor, can’t seem to process what’s happening in time to even growl at the threat. Derek doesn’t have the same problem, rumbling like a bad engine and shining electric blue headlights at the intruder. The Wolf continues casually, stopping when in front of Peter.
Noise of twisting bone and shedding of fur fills the cleared area until beast becomes man. Bipedal once more, Theo in all his naked glory stands in line with Peter. The Beta reaches behind himself to pull out the pair of sweatpants he had hidden with his frame. He tosses them to his new Alpha, the boy catching them and nodding back in thanks. He trusts Peter to watch his back, as he turns to face the motley crew.
This was an entirely unnecessary part of the act, but it makes the build-up so much more enriching. Plus, they each had a love karma.
Theo flashes his red, red, red Wolf eyes with a saccine grin. “Hi Scott.”
The utter bewilderment on the tan boy’s face is marvelous. The best Peter has ever seen him.
“Theo, what’s going on?”
“Don’t worry, we’ll get there,” his tone is patronizing and that makes Scott’s face twist in tighter. “But first we’ve just got some i’s to dot and t’s to cross. Can’t keep skirting around this anymore.”
Scott shakes his head in confused disbelief before tilting it, listening to something off in the distance. Peter was hoping the True Idiot would stay oblivious as usual, but he’s picked up on the sound of more heartbeats coming their way. Many of them.
Another slew of supernatural teenagers pour out of the treeline, but the McCall Pack don’t seem as dauntless and self-assured about their appearance.
“Doctors are taken care of,” Tracy informs the new Alpha. She walks ahead of the others, still acting withdrawn from the collective. It’s only a matter of time that Stiles and Lydia will press enough of her buttons for her lone-wolf facade to break down.
One of the boys from the Chimeras huffs lightly. He’s helping Liam carry a limping Mason, an arm thrown over the shoulder and their bodies pressed tightly together. Much more tightly than compared to his best friend on the other side of him. Corey. “Not that we were really needed. Stiles and Lydia are terrifying.”
“I think I’m a little bit in love,” the other male Chimera, the one that smells of saltwater and electricity, says breathlessly, gazing pointedly at where the Gemini stand together.
“With which one?” The girl Peter recognizes as Liam’s anchor asks. Hayden if he recalls correctly. She comes stalking up with the rest of her Chimera brethren. Josh panics at that question, unsure of the answer himself.
“Hardly matters,” Peter can’t help but to involve himself in the conversation. “Both are spoken for by Coyotes.”
Malia, like the rest of them, grins wildly at the statement and proves him right by coming up beside Lydia to take her arm and cradle it between her own. It’s a common sight by now, but the redhead still manages to blush at the innocent affection that her not-so-secret lover bestows her.
“There’s my pretty Honey,” Theo sighs happily at the sight of Stiles, equally as disgustingly sappy as their counterparts. The Spark grazes right on past the True Alpha and to his Alpha; melting into his welcoming embrace. In a soft voice, the Chimera whispers into his mate’s lips, “I missed you.”
Stiles smiles into the kiss, wrapping his arms around the shorter boy’s neck. When his lips are free again, he laughs, “It’s been three hours, you stage five clinger.”
Once they break from the quick, cute pecks, the brunette lays his head in the hollow of the dirty blond’s throat. Glancing at the Pack that rejected him, he rests easily in his Alpha’s arms. “Hey Scott,” Stiles greets, his voice cheery and relaxed. The complete antithesis of his mood last time the former friends were together.
It’s funny, Stiles seems to have even more hickeys now than the day prior. Peter hadn’t thought that possible. Though, of course, he understands. When you have something as precious as the Gemini, you stake your claim loud and clear. Theo is doing the smart, instinctual thing.
The thunderous roar that leaves Derek in response to seeing said claim is deliciously deserved. “What did you do to him!” he accuses, more than asks the new Alpha. Bright blue Beta eyes glow with furry.
“Nothing I didn’t beg for,” Stiles answers for them. “He’s really good at driving me crazy to the point of desperation.”
“Is that an insult?” Theo questions. The little ass-grab he gives the Spark in retaliation wins him another angered growl from the Right-Hand of the McCall Pack.
“Not when it involves you sweaty and on top of me.”
“Theo, this has to be a misunderstanding.” Adorable how even now McCall is looking for a way to excuse his ignorance. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we can - ”
“No mistakes here,” Theo puts an end to those stupid ramblings. “I did everything right, unlike you. I killed Gerard Argent. How any Alpha left him alive is just pathetic. He killed Betas. Hurt packmates. And the great True Alpha not only let him walk away but aided in his getaway plan.”
He redirects his bloody gaze past the mentioned True Alpha and to a former Alpha.
“Not to forget, before that, there was the Hale Alpha who was too stupid to outwit a single-minded Beta. Gerard’s the reason two, TWO of your Betas never made it back home and you never even tried to find him?” Isaac’s a touch paler than normal and Stiles’ jaw clenched tight. A true juxtaposition of spicy anger and sour woe. But Derek is the perfect mixture of both right now. Bitter ire. Remorseful rage. The two emotions that dictate his life. “It wasn’t even hard,” Theo keeps going. “An undiagnosed sixty-something coughing up black mucus, rotting away slowly in a nursing home four counties over. Their security isn’t exactly Fort Knox; I’m sure even you would have found a way in.” He shakes head like he couldn’t believe the luck. “I was more than happy to put that cavity in his chest.”
Scott roars. “He wasn’t a threat anymore!”
“Oh,” Theo says with an overemphasized surprise in his tone. “Is that why I found meticulous notes on each and every one of the McCall Pack hidden under the mattress? Because there was a whole lot written about you, Scott. I guess he didn’t have those same warm feelings for you like you do for him. Did for him. Condolences by the way.
“Since you’re already upset, I should probably tell you I also killed Deucalion.” The roar is more of a frustrated scream this go around. It makes Theo laugh and Scott turns redder than Lydia’s hair. “Loose ends unravel the whole design. I’m never risking my Pack’s lives for the chance at some random guy’s redemption. Sorry, but all that mercy isn’t gonna go back in time and make Daddy a nice person.” The True Alpha makes an uncontrolled feral noise. That certainly struck a nice little nerve. It’s the most animalistic Peter has ever heard him. “I love a good character arc too, but this is irresponsible, Scott,” Theo spits the name like it’s an insult. “Everything about your pathetic attempts to lead is irresponsible. So I’m stepping up.”
“We still outnumber you,” Scott says with bravado, no longer having any qualms with the reality of this betrayal. That bravado falters when Theo smiles even wider.
“Alpha McCall, I am Alpha Raeken,” the Chimera Alpha announces to the clearing populated by supernatural creatures of all varieties. “My intent is to reside in Beacon Hills until me and my Pack graduate and can head east to find our own territory. Allow me to introduce you to my Pack; Emissaries Stilinski and Martin - ”
Derek disrupts the formal claiming. “The Gemini can’t -”
“The what?” Scott asks aloud.
Peter can’t help himself. He laughs until his stomach hurts, quite a feat for a Werewolf. Scott McCall, oblivious until his very end.
“My Right-Hand, Peter Hale,” Theo pushes on despite the interference, only speaking louder to drown out the useless commentary. There has never been a pleasure to Peter quite like feeling the McCall Pack stunned into utter silence as he crosses the divide.
“And Left-Hand, Tracy Stewart. My Betas: Josh Diaz, Corey Bryant, and Hayden Romero,” Theo finishes listing off all the title roles of the established Pack thus far. Peter’s bond with the McCall collection has been on its last leg for a while now. Very easily snipped without notice. The same could not be said with the others, another reason for the Gemini’s insistence on waiting before jumping ship. “I offer now, to anyone of any standing, a place in my pack if they wish it.”
Jackson raises his hand, volunteering himself as tribute. “Sign me the fuck up!”
Ethan follows after him. “Not before me. I need this collar of a bond off me.”
“Yeah right,” Malia scoffs, letting go of Lydia so she can rush to get to Theo first. “I’m first.” Due to proximity the pure Werecoyote does make it to him first. She bares her neck in blanket submission. “Alpha Raeken, I, Beta Tate wish to join your pack.”
“Malia!” Scott shouts. He’s frozen in place, watching his Pack crumble before his very eyes.
Ethan joins her side, not willing to wait, and asks, “Alpha Raeken, I, Beta Steiner wish to join your pack.”
“Do I really have to say the whole thing?” Jackson asks, falling in line. Stiles coughs pointedly and Lydia glares. “Christ, fine,” he grumbles like a child, “Alpha Raeken, I, Beta Whittemore wish to join your pack.”
“I, Alpha Raeken, accept you into my pack,” Theo announces and touches each of their bared necks to snap the Pack bond into place. One by one Peter feels them all fall into place - bigger, brighter, and more alive than they ever were in the McCall Pack. It's amazing how the right spark connecting them all changes so much; every bond fill in space like they were made to be slotted with each other like this. This is the Pack they were supposed to be.
The only human McCall packmate left turns to his freshly turned best friend. A best friend that doesn’t shut him out because of a first love. One that will give and take equally. Whether it be McCall or Raeken, the decision will be unilateral for them. As much of a package as the Gemini.
One would think that because Mason agreed to work with them to release and expel the beast it would automatically. However, even humans can feel the barest of pack bonds. He’s Scott’s Beta at the end of the day so long as he keeps that intact.
Mason has done them a favor. This does not promise his alliance.
“Yeah?” Mason asks.
“Yeah,” Liam agrees.
Still leaning against one another, they move forward towards their new Alpha.
Scott manages to grab the blond boy’s elbow before he gets too far. Liam being pulled away nearly causes Mason to tumble from his already jelly legs, but gravity is in his favor for once. It’s very on brand for McCall to not consider the human best friend before he does anything. “Where are you going?”
“With Stiles?” Liam responds as though it were obvious.
“But, I’m your Alpha?”
“And Peter was yours,” the younger wolf reminds him. Scott rips his hand away from the arm as though he's been marred by flames - like Peter, the older wolf thinks smugly to himself, greatly enjoying the show. “You bit me, Scott.”
“I saved you!”
“Yeah, maybe,” Liam agrees but his tone only grows more upset, his cobalt eyes flashing gold. “But you still bit me. And that wouldn’t have been so bad if you had just told me what the fuck you did and why afterwards. But you kidnapped me! You dragged me to your house and tied me up until you could command Stiles into dealing with your decisions. You didn’t even bother trying to explain to me what was happening! You bit me and stole me and I was scared!” Scott’s shaking his head, desperately trying to reject the truth of what occurred. This context does shed some light to why the pup is overly attached to the Spark. “Stiles was the one who told me everything, the whys and hows and whats. Justified your actions for you. Like he always does. Maybe he’s not always nice about how he tells us things but he tells you what you need to hear without kid gloves. Stiles looks out for us more than you ever have!”
Then, pinnacle of idiocy that he is, Scott grabs at the Beta again. Two pairs of claws wrap around the boy’s shoulders as though the Alpha would be able to get him to physically stay with him.
“I suggest you let go of the pissed off Beta now,” Stiles says in a manner that in no way implies it was not a suggestion.
Two heart beats go by and the Alpha actually listens. If only he had done that sooner.
With one more angered huff, Liam strides off in Theo’s direction.
“Sorry, Scott,” is all Mason says as he continues on with Liam. He doesn’t sound or smell all that sorry about it.
Solely Isaac and Derek stay at the True Alpha’s side. It’s a small Pack, but it’ll hold them. Peter has made due with less.
Seething, Scott grits, “Why?”
“Because you gave away your Queen.”
~~~
Peter Hale had never been to a high school graduation before.
In spite of his intellectual prowess, his defiant nature pulled him away from attending such formal atrocities. He missed out on Talia’s, Laura’s, and his own graduations in his past. But there’s something different about the ceremony this time, watching the large majority of his Pack celebrating their successful conquering of Beacon Hills.
Natalie and John thoughtfully gifted all extra graduation tickets to those in the Raeken Pack not part of the graduating class. Peter sits among them as well - a surprise even to him. He knows outsiders are staring at them not only for the unusual collection of people but because the widowed Sheriff is holding hands with the Hale House survivor. It’s much easier to ignore those stares while surrounded by routty Pack. Hayden, Liam, Mason, and Corey - in that order - are seated on the other side of the oldest Wolf and are making their vocal support known for each of their senior members. The kids, in their enthusiasm, cheer louder than some families. They are certainly a spectacle.
Thanks to the small populace of Beacon Hills but large body count, there’s roughly only one hundred kids graduating. Raeken and Stilinski are close together, but there’s a couple of kids between them. Not that this stops the couple from standing out of order. None of the staff even fight them. Theo waits at the side of the podium, patiently listening for his name to be called next while Stiles is wrapped around his back. Chin resting on the Alpha’s shoulder, much closer to his neck than the Chimera lets anyone else get. The couple have not fallen out of their touchy, feely, awestruck stage as of yet and Peter suspects maybe they never will. As gross as it is to witness, that’s how the man would prefer it.
Then again, there’s very little human-based hesitation to being touchy, feely with anyone in the Pack. Unlike McCall’s and even Derek’s leadership styles, Theo encourages the more primal urges that itch under their skin. The need to scent, to hold, to simply be near one another. For instance, Tracy Stuart is right behind the couple, and if you look closely, you’ll see that the Spark has a hand held behind his back to lock pinkie fingers together with the female Chimera. Or how Ethan Steiner has one arm loosely wrapped around the girl as well, leaning into her. Or how Josh Diaz has a lapful of Lydia Martin (kept far away from McCall) since they are the only ones to have done their grab, wave, and walk in front of the sizable audience. The R’s were condensed enough, a whole three students, that the S’s absorbed them, apparently. Stiles and Theo have never not in contact throughout the ceremony. Malia Tate huffs in her loneliness, sectioned off with the rest of the plentiful T’s. In the last row of kids waiting to be summoned, Jackson Whittemore pouts.
Peter and the rest of them do cheer when the packless fox, rounding out the last of her class, takes her degree and Natalie congratulates all the students who have survived their time in Beacon.
“We’ll meet you at Giovanni’s?” John asks the kids when all is said and done with the formalities of the day, despite already knowing that was the agreed upon plans for their Pack evening.
“At six p.m. sharp, Daddio!” Stiles confirms. They are all smiles and excitement and recklessly hopeful about their futures. It is infectious in the most irredeemable way to Peter’s reputation.
“Nowhere else we’d rather be,” Theo adds, hands on Stiles’ hip as he guides his Pack toward their getaway vehicle: Theo’s truck. Continually a control freak, Theo likes to drive for his Pack. Somehow, it was shockingly less of a hassle than one would think to relegate Stiles into a passenger princess.
The plans for the night have long since been cemented and nonnegotiable at this stage. Theo, Lydia, and Peter went ring shopping two months ago in preparation for tonight. The Banshee has a vision for what life in Washington will look like. A triple wedding is part of that self-designed prophecy. Engagement before arrival, a year of prepping and planning, and then the grandest wedding anyone could imagine.
Peter is most probably the only one of the three that has his ring on him at this current moment, slipped in his jacket pocket for safe keeping. He runs his thumb across the velvet box unconsciously now and then as a happy little reminder to himself. John won’t say no, nor will Stiles or Malia, but it’s damn near tradition to have some nerves.
“Try to be decent upon arrival,” Peter suggests to the handsy couple. Stiles perpetually has a hickey or two around the collar, much to everyone’s exasperation.
“Ha, fat chance!” Jackson can be heard laughing across the parking lot with Danny and his family.
“No promises,” Malia says all too seriously. She plants a kiss on both John’s and Peter’s cheeks before she swiftly passes them up for a seat in Theo’s truck.
Lydia gives them the same treatment, but much more graceful and gentler. She even runs a manicured hand down their arms for scenting purposes. Her feet take her to the other side of Theo’s vehicle, finding her place beside her mate. The strawberry blonde’s mother follows up the rear, looking all prim, proper, and rightfully professional for the momentous occasion. She takes her place among the adult packmembers.
“Drive safe and please behave,” Natalie instructs the kids. “You’re only here for a couple more days, don’t make John arrest you so close to freedom.”
“Or make Chris come back from retirement.”
“Oh, definitely no promises there, but we’ll try.” Stiles is the one to laugh this time. “See you in a bit!”
“God help us all,” John sighs. “Alright, what are we doing for the next two hours?”
“Overload on complimentary garlic bread and wine?” Nat suggests.
Peter claps his own mate on the shoulder. “I’ll let you slide with the garlic bread, but you’re getting Chinotto while Ms. Martin and I sip on Merlot.”
“Deal.”
“Oh, Peter?” Theo calls, halting the adults from leaving, leans against the open sidedoor in his clutches and pauseshis own escape into the driver's seat of the truck. The Hale turns and waits for whatever it is his Alpha seems to have forgotten to tell him.
Theo shoots him a wink.
“Thanks for the advice.”