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Take my pride, Take my life, Take my body, but don't take the ones that I love

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Stiles is an asshole, it's a character trait he's well aware of, and he used it well against Jackson when he's been a dick to Scott throughout the years, but he isn't a complete and utter asshole—like how Scott is slowly becoming, a small yet growing louder voice says in the back of his head, but Stiles tries to ignore it—and getting Derek arrested for his sister's murder and not apologising is a complete and utter asshole move.

And really, Stiles would be over there already and apologising until Derek accepts, but Scott told him about the visit to Peter Hale, the third survivor of the Hale family, and how Derek thinks the Argent's did it—with the complete tone of disbelief in his voice which makes Stiles want to shake him because it seems Scott completely forgot that Mr Argent shot him with a crossbow!!—and he can't help but turn the recent murders and their connection to the Hale family and their fiery death in his mind.

Each person already killed had been connected to the Fire, it was obviously a revenge case, and he didn't think Derek is the killer, but he does believe the killer is a Hale. Out of the three survivors; Laura is dead, Derek is angrily grieving, and Peter's supposedly comatose.

Stiles thinks about what he learnt.

Derek arrived the morning after Laura had been partly found, Stiles and Scott had just ran into him on his first day back, so unless there is some other werewolf in town then the only other werewolf in Beacon Hills at the time of Laura's death was Peter.

Stiles thinks part of Derek knows the only suspect is his uncle, but he can't face it and really Stiles doesn't blame him.

But someone has to face it, someone has to confront him because people are dying, the Argent's are hunting, and his dad is in the middle of it all.

It's that that makes Stiles speed over to where Peter's being kept instead of the ruin that Derek calls home and beg the older and scary man for forgiveness.

It's stupid, it's reckless, but Stiles has to do this now.

It's stupidly easy to get to Peter's room, like really, really, easy that Stiles almost cringes.

The werewolf is under his own name and doesn't have any restriction on visitors, and Stiles is wondering why no Hunter had come and killed Peter yet, and then he catches sight of Peter Hale and he understands.

It would be a mercy, Stiles realises as he stares at Peter propped up like a doll or a puppet in his wheelchair and blankly staring out of the window, it would be a kindness and for all their humanity, Hunters' weren't kind.

Perhaps it's because they are human that they are able to be so cruel, so merciless, Stiles thinks as he walks over to the werewolf.

How horrible must it be for a werewolf to be trapped in their own body? To be betrayed by the failing of it? To be weak and defenseless? It would enough to drive anyone mad.

Stiles steps in front of Peter and waves his hand in front of the man's burn-scarred face, nothing. He clicks his fingers beside Peter's ear, not a flinch.

Stiles frowns, a niggle of doubt beginning to take root, before lunging forward and slamming his hands down on the armrests of the wheelchair.

Peter stares vacantly forward, no reaction.

"Oh, you're good," Stiles squints at him. "But I'm on to you, okay? I know it has to be you."

Stiles stands up and then paces in front of Peter.

"At first we thought it was Derek, I mean he sort of gives off that vibe? Living in the ruin of his old house, looming suspiciously, and with that whole brooding and angry look on his face? Oh, and his serial-killer brows! Like, he's the perfect suspect! But the thing is? I don't think he killed his sister, and I don't think he knew they were connected to the Fire," Stiles glances at the expressionless Peter before continuing as he gestures. "I don't think he's looking into the Fire at all, I don't think he has the least idea who to look for, so that means someone else has looked into it, tracked them down. But who would care?"

Stiles turns to look at Peter, "I mean, officially? It's an accident. So, who would care apart from another Hale? But Laura and Derek both ran, and you were the only Hale left behind. I think you're more healed than you look, I think you've been tracking them down, the people that killed your family."

"I get that, I get the revenge," Stiles tells him as he watches Peter intently, waiting for the slightest flinch. "What I don't get is Laura. Why kill your own niece? You're doing this for your family, to get them justice, so why kill one of your last family members?"

Stiles crosses his arms and taps idly at his biceps as he stares at Peter.

"And how did you kill her? No offense, but you're not exactly in top-shape, and she was an Alpha, an Alpha who had a Pack while you've been reduced to an injured Omega. It seems simple that she would win which means either two things. You attacked her and caught her off-guard or she didn't fight back."

There, a twitch to a finger.

"That brings us back to why though. Why attack Laura? And I've come up for two reasons. One, you didn't recognise her until it was too late. It's has been six-years after all. But I'm leaning for option two," Stiles leans forward, looking Peter straight in his blue-eyes. "You were angry with her. She was your Alpha after your family died, and she left you, left you alone, hurt and defenseless under your own name, and she didn't once come back.

She left you to heal bit by bit alone, to stew in your anger, in your need for revenge. You must have done something, something that made her come back, and it was a full moon, when you're probably at your strongest still.

You came across her, you recognised her, and you were angry. You wanted her to feel some of how you felt; hurt, angry and betrayed. So, you attacked," a twitch to his eye, "but I don't think you expected to win, it wasn't meant to kill her. But she didn't fight back, she didn't fight back, and you accidentally kill her. You didn't mean to, but it doesn't matter. She's dead and now you are the Alpha, an Alpha without a Pack and that's even worse than being Omega, isn't it?

You needed a Pack, quickly, to stabilise you with your new power, to make your stronger when you take your revenge. And you come across a lost teenager."

Stiles watches Peter steadily, "It must have felt like fate, you bit him, your first Beta. I bet you figured it would be easy to bring him into the Pack, to make him accept you as Alpha. But Scott didn't, he hasn't accepted anything, and the power is consuming you, making you reckless. You need a Beta, or you are as good as dead when the Argents finally catch on."

"You are a clever boy, aren't you?" Peter finally speaks, blinking his blue-eyes that turn red as Stiles watches.

"Yeah, my teachers always said so anyway," Stiles quips as he tries to pretend his heart isn't thundering in his chest.

Peter brings his hands up clasp his fingers together, “So what are you going to do, Stiles? Are you going to call your little Beta friend and my depressed nephew over so they can kill me?”

Stiles snorts, “What do you think I am, an idiot? Scott’s probably busy shoving his tongue down Allison’s throat right now or dealing with teenage angst. And Derek’s probably brooding in the Hale house and is angry at me for accusing him of murdering his sister. So there’s no one here to save me, not that I need to be saved.”

“You seem very sure of yourself. I could kill you right now you know?” Peter throws the blankets off of him as he stands up out of the wheelchair, coming closer to tower over Stiles, the half burnt side of his face looking like something out of a horror game from where he’s standing in the shadows.

“But you won’t hurt me.”

The Alpha tilts his head to the side like he’s staring down at a cute little kitten trying to bite him, “And why is that?”

“Because you’re going to give me the bite.”

"What?" Peter's face slacks with surprise as he stares at Stiles.

"You're going to give me the bite," Stiles repeats as he taps his thigh anxiously. "You need a Beta. Scott won't give into you, not with Allison in the picture and Derek can't face the truth, not yet. You're being reckless, the Argents are already hunting and shown they are willing to shoot at everything that moves, and my dad is smack in the middle of the supernatural showdown that's coming.

Personally, I don't really care one way or another about becoming a werewolf, from what I've seen? A lot more cons on the list than pros, but I care about my dad, I care about Scott and I kinda owe Derek from getting him arrested. If that means I have to take the bite to stop you from going crazier and getting yourself killed—possibly with two out of the three people I've listed with you—then come on," Stiles rolls up top and bares his side, just where Scott had been bitten. "Drop those fangs, Balto, and nom away, just not really, more of a tiny turning bite? And if I pass out? Don't shame me, okay?"

Peter stares at him for a long moment before throwing back his head and laughing.

"Now you're making me feel awkward," Stiles huffs as he crosses his arms almost grumpily over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Peter covers his face as he continues to laugh, “I have just, never seen someone who didn’t want to be a werewolf more willing to take the bite. You, are certainly an interesting person, Stiles. I think I’m going to have fun with you in my Pack.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mea—OW!” Stiles lifts a hand to cover his mouth as he screams, his eyes have gone wide as he stares at where Peter but him on his wrist.

Blood oozing out of the wound and for a moment Stiles feels nauseous at the sight, but is snapped out of it when Peter grabs a towel off his table and covers Stiles’ arm.

“You bit my arm, why?” He holds back the pain he feels as he says this.

“When making a Beta there are certain areas a werewolf will bite. On the side is when they need a Beta but don’t really want them, like what I did with Scott. If I had known how terrible of a Beta he would have turned out to be I would have just ignored him,” Peter explains, patting the towel down a little as he waits for the blood to clot. “Biting on the arm is the Alpha’s way as seeing their new Beta that they have their respect and trust.”

“What about on the neck?” Stiles tries to not feel weirdly giddy about the fact Peter respects him.

“That is if I wanted to take you as my mate,” Peter smirks.

“Oh, ew. Sorry, I’m sure you’re really handsome but I like my men less elderly and homicidal.”

“None taken, I prefer my men older and with a bit more muscles on their figure,” Peter grins, checking the wound and smiling when he sees it already closing which means Stiles has accepted the bite.

"Oh, wow, that's both cool and gross," Stiles blinks at his wrist, and Peter looks at him almost worriedly.

"Are you alright?" Peter asks with a frown as he looks back at the bite.

"Sure," Stiles waves his free hand. "I'm just, you know, going to pass out now?"

"Wha—" before Peter can finish the word, one-hundred-and-forty-seven pounds of teenage boy tumbles straight into his arms, and Peter stares down at him in surprise. "This isn't what I meant when I once asked for pretty and handsome men to fall into my arms."

There's no comment from his new Beta—and he tries to keep the giddy grin from his lips, he really does—and Peter almost pouts before shifting until his Beta is cradled in his arms and looks around his barren room with a wrinkled nose.

"This calls for a change of plans," Peter decides as he moves over to the window and pulls it open, easily stepping out with his 'burden'.

Having such a willing Beta truly makes a difference, Peter notes as he walks around to the building and towards the carpark, noticing the old baby-blue Jeep that smells of his Beta and heading towards it without a care.

Peter already feels stronger, more clear-minded, and he grimaces as he realises the boy, Stiles he believes, had been right. He had been getting reckless.

"Let's see what your clever mind comes up with next," Peter hums as he holds Stiles with one arm and rummages for his keys.

Stiles wakes up to a really comfortable couch that he’s pretty sure he doesn’t own, or have the money to afford unless he wanted to go bankrupt.

“What the—“ he jerks awake and sits up immediately, his vision going a little spotty as he moved too fast.

“Ah, you’re finally awake,” Peter grins from where he’s sitting in a leather arm chair across from Stiles, a book that looks older than dirt in his hands.

“What happened?” Stiles rubs at the back of his head.

“Well, I gave you the bite and then you promptly decided to pass out in my arms like a fair maiden. Quit adorably might I add, so you know your nose twitches like a rabbit when you’re sleeping?” Peter smirks when Stiles’ cheeks go red with embarrassment. “Good news, the bite took, and you aren’t going to die.”

“Oh, okay cool, so I’m like a werewolf now?” Stiles glances down at his arm, marvelling in how his skin doesn’t even have a scratch on it.

“Oh, that was the bad news.”


“Congratulations, Stiles. You’re not a werewolf. Unfortunately, I have no idea what you are,” Peter grins at the flailing teenager in front of him.

"What do you mean I'm not a werewolf!" Stiles flails as Peter watches him in great amusement. "You just send the bite took!"

"And yet here we are," Peter gestures with a hand to their surroundings, which is frankly a very luxurious apartment smelling slightly stuffy and a bit dusty with most of the furniture covered by white sheets and the windows thrown open despite it being freaking January! "You are still you, no claws or fangs to speak of. Which is a shame considering you would make a wonderful wolf."

"So, what?!" Stiles demands. "I let you bite me! Bite me! And it means nothing?"

"No, I wouldn't say that," Peter closes the book and puts it to the side on a lovely and antique looking table. "We're Pack, there's no mistaking that, and we now know you are something, something else."

Stiles frowns as he leans forward, "How can you know we're Pack?"

Peter smirks at him making Stiles narrow his eyes before something in his chest feels like it's been tugged and Stiles gasps as he stares at Peter.

"Because we have a Pack bond," Peter lets his eyes bleed red in victory.

Yes, it is a disappointment that Stiles isn't a wolf and would never be able to keep up on a proper hunt under the light of the moon, but he's still strong despite seeming plainly human.

Stiles' bond to him has strengthen him beyond what he thought possible, cleared his mind in a way that not even the Alpha-spark had, and let him see just how reckless he had been acting, how much danger he had put both himself and his poor lost nephew in—oh, and the Beta he bit, he supposes he mustn't forget him considering Stiles seems mightily attached to him.

And Stiles presents a mystery! A mystery just for him to solve!

"You are a gift that just keeps giving, aren't you?" Peter grins at him, and Stiles looks almost flatly at him, calm despite lingering fear and confident in his place before Peter despite everything.

"What can I say?" Stiles says dryly. "I'm a giver."

Peter laughs.

“Well then let me repay you with these,” Peter waves a hand over the mountain of books on the table.

Immediately, Stiles’ eyes zone in on the books and he’s sitting on the edge of the couch.

“What uh-what are these?” He asks, reaching over to gentle trace over the cover of one of the books. Feeling like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Books I recovered before the fire, they’re chalk full of all the werewolf knowledge and lore I’d knew you’d like to read,” Peter grins as he scents Stiles’ excitement in the air. “Along with a few other things to read up on while I get you something to eat. You look like a starved kitten someone threw out on the streets.”

Stiles gives him a look for his word usage and then glances down at himself, “I am not starved looking, I’m just lithe.”

“You mean a few meals short of being toothpick skinny,” Peter snorts before standing up out of his seat and then taking off his shirt.

“Hey, woah, woah! I did not consent to this!” Stiles covers his face with his hand.

“Relax,” Peter tosses his nice red V-neck at Stiles’ lap. “Put that on, I need you to smell like pack more. It’s a werewolf thing.”

He grins to himself when Stiles gives him a look and actually follows through with it.

Peter frowns when he sees how tiny Stiles looks in his clothes, yes he was certainly going to have to take over his new Beta’s meal intake. This boy needed to eat if he wanted to keep up with the wolves.

Peter turns away with a growing frown as he pokes around his kitchen and making sure the groceries he had recently ordered were there and put away properly.

Surely a teenage boy is meant to be bigger?

He's wearing my shirt over two of his own, and yet still looks tiny, Peter frowns as he thinks back to when Derek was a teenager.

Derek had been around the same height if Peter recalls correctly, but he had more muscle and a good layer of fat on him due to the meals the Pack shared. Though he had been putting on more muscle and losing fat near the Fire...

Peter scowls as he collects what he needs for a nice and filling pasta-bake, and he remembers just why Derek began pushing himself more in training and self-training.

No doubt she would come swanning back to town soon enough if the Argent's were truly here.

He'd have to collect Derek soon, the house wasn't safe for him to stay if that woman is coming, Peter knows as he puts on the water for the pasta.

He'd rather Derek not have to face her again, and he's certain his newest—and best, he privately adds—Beta would agree if Peter gave him enough to put the clues together.

Truthfully, Peter didn't know much of his nephew's.......relationship with her, but what he pieced together both then and since, well, Peter is going to make her death very slow.

He chops the tomatoes almost roughly as he broods—a habit he truly doesn't want to fall into, it's best suited for those with the face for it, like Derek.

If Talia had just listened for once, had just trusted him, then she would still be alive, and Derek would have been unharmed from her. But no, Talia didn't have to listen to her Left-Hand because the "Alpha always knows best".

Peter used to hate that holier-than-thou voice that she would put on and thread through with her Alpha power, and truthfully? He doesn't miss that about his sister.

Peter shakes his head angrily and focuses on the soothing sound of his Beta behind him.

He had enough of drowning in his memories for a lifetime, it's best to focus on the present and the future.

Stiles gets so lost in reading as much as he can about werewolf lore and magic, he doesn’t even realize the front door is slamming open.

Peter, with his Alpha instincts suddenly going off with alarms in his head, stops what he’s doing and stalks his way to the living room, eyes going red as he gets ready for a fight.

The only reason his wolf doesn’t maul the man walking into his apartment is because he recognizes it as his dear nephew.

Derek looks at the couch where Stiles is sitting, six books open in front of him as he skips and jumps over each one, eyes reading the pages faster than he’s ever seen someone read before, and never noticing the werewolves presence. His wolf catches sight of Peter’s shirt in the human and he loses the last string of control he had when he found out his Uncle possibly kidnapped the Sheriff’s son.

“Peter,” he growls.

“Nephew,” the older man tilts his head in greeting and smirks.

He’s mine, Derek snarls, crouching down low and getting ready for a fight. His wolf taking full control of his mind as he challenges the Alpha before him.

Peter can’t stop the way the shift follows after when Derek snarls at him, both of the wolves  growling and posturing at one another as they wait for the other one to pull back.

The only thing that breaks their challenge is when they hear Stiles sneeze from over at the couch.

Both of them turn to watch as the teenager rubs his nose and shakes himself a little before going back to reading.

“We can share,” Peter compromises.

“Fine,” Derek grunts, taking his leather jacket off and placing it over Stiles’ shoulders, gently so he doesn’t disturb the boy’s focus.

Stiles absently tugs the jacket further around him as he reads, and Peter jerks his head towards the kitchen.

Derek storms pass him angrily, and Peter rolls his eyes as he turns to follow his nephew.

"I see you found us," Peter starts as he goes back to stirring the sauce. "You may grate the cheese."

Derek huffs angrily for a moment before grudgingly giving in and grabbing both the cheese and grater, "Do you know the whole Sheriff's Department is out looking for you?"

"I'm flattered," Peter says almost demurely as he tastes his sauce before checking on the pasta. "I suppose they are concerned a recently comatose person has suddenly left."

"I think they are mostly concerned by you kidnapping the Sheriff's son," Derek says dryly, and he feels satisfied when Peter stills.

"Ah," Peter blinks down at the sauce before adding some basil. "I forgot he's the Sheriff's son."

"What the fuck are you doing, Peter?" Derek demands in a low and angry voice, and Peter cases him a pout.

"What? No uncle?"

"You killed Laura!" Derek snaps, voicing what he realised the moment he realised Peter and Stiles were gone, and was confirmed with the blood-red of Peter's wolf eyes, and Peter stills again, smelling of regret and guilt.

" was a mistake," Peter stumbles somewhat over his words, he hadn't given much thought how to explain. "I was angry, she left me, but she didn't fight back, Derek. She didn't fight back."

Peter's words are heavy with regret and guilt, grief burdens his shoulders, and his heart remained steady as he spoke, and some of the tension leeches out of Derek's body at the truth.

Derek isn't truthfully sure what he would have done if Peter had killed Laura just for her power.

But he doesn't know what to do with this truth.

If Peter killed her for power, if he was insane with power, Derek eventually would have worked up the will and strength to kill him.

But this?

Knowing that Laura could have saved herself, but didn't?

Knowing that Peter had thought she would defend herself, but she didn't?

Knowing that Laura had left Derek by her own choice?

It breaks something in Derek, that his sister could have lived and just gave up instead.

Peter reaches out to comfort his nephew but instead gets blue eyes and fangs thrown his way, he pulls his hands back, and watches as Derek digs his claws into the palm of his hands until they start to bleed.

His nephew, the sweet boy he remembered, was no longer there and had been ruined and covered over with the ghost of a man full of emptiness and trauma.

Peter supposes it was his own fault for trying to comfort him so early when Derek hadn’t even accepted him as his Alpha yet.

But the ache in his chest to comfort the last of his family burns inside of Peter’s chest.

“I’m sorry. I should have asked if it was okay to touch you,” Peter says when he sees Derek has calmed himself down.

“It’s fine. Let’s just finish making this and then get Stiles to explain to his dad you didn’t kidnap him,” Derek grumbles, throwing the cheese on top of the pasta-bake.

“Ah yes, speaking of Stiles—“

“What did you do.”

Scoffing, Peter slides the dish into the oven before setting the timer, “Don’t be so rash, I just gave him the bite.”

“You did what!” Derek roars, pushing Peter up against the wall and flashing blue-eyes again.

How could this man do this? Hasn’t he already taken enough from Derek? Why would he try to take away Stiles!

“Relax, he’s fine, Derek. However, he isn’t a werewolf, as disappointed as I was to find that out.”

"You bit him!" Derek snarls again, dropping Peter and rushing back to Stiles.

Stiles startles and flails as strong hands grab him and push him back against the couch before slipping under his shirts and basically groping him.

"Wait! Wait! I did not consent to this Peter! I did not—Derek?" Stiles stops his yelping and flailing as he stares up at Derek's thunderously unhappy and, Stiles squints slightly, worried face.

"Where did he bite you?" Derek asks urgently, hands—surprisingly, soft hands, Stiles notes absently—move up and cup his jaw as he twists Stiles' neck and leans down to sniff at his neck.

"Why are you sniff? Why are you worried? It's fine, it healed!" Stiles thrusts his wrist in front of Derek's face, and watches in bemusement as Derek cradles his wrist as some tension leaves his face and shoulders.

"You're very concerned about me claiming him as a mate," Peter muses as he leans against the archway to the kitchen, his blue-eyes narrowed and thoughtful. "In fact, you're very concerned about him in general."

Derek stiffens, his face going blank, and Stiles blinks as he stares between the two werewolves before turning to his Alpha—and the werewolf more likely to answer his questions with words and not glares.

"Why do I get the feeling this," Stiles gestures to how close Derek is and curled over Stiles the werewolf is, "is something very important and something I may or may not freak out about?"

"Because if I am right," Peter says thoughtfully as he watches Derek do his best impression of a statue and guard-dog at the same time, "it is."

"So, what do you think it—"

"No," Derek snaps forcefully as he drops Stiles' wrists and steps hurriedly away as if Stiles is about to burst into flames or something, and turns to scowl at Peter. "It's nothing."

"We both know that's a lie, nephew," Peter crosses his arms as he watches Derek. "And a rather poor one at that."

"Shut up!" Derek roars as his eyes flash.

Stiles jumps with a yelp and Derek flinches, hunching in on himself as if Stiles had hit him, and Stiles looks at him wide-eyed while Peter's expression becomes more sympathetic.

"Derek," Peter begins softly, and Derek covers his ears as he shakes his head violently.



The older man flinches at Stiles’ voice, looking up at him with electric-blue-eyes.

“Hey, I’m not gonna touch you, big guy,” Stiles says softly, “Are you okay?”

“Why do you care? Earlier you just got me arrested for murdering my sister,” Derek snarls at him.

“I know, and that was really shitty of me. But I know you’re not a murderer Derek, I know you’re a good person,” Stiles tells him honestly, his heart never skipping as he spoke.

The singer on the oven goes off and Peter uses that as an excuse to move the conversation along, “So, pasta-bake anyone?”

“When did you make dinner?” Stiles glances down at himself, “When did I get Derek’s leather jacket? Wait, when did Derek get here?”

Both Hale’s roll their eyes before turning to move to the kitchen, Stiles calling after them as he tries to pull the answers out of the wolves but neither of them answer back.

“Assholes,” Stiles mumbles, falling back down on the couch.

He gives a glance over to the kitchen and then lifts the leather jacket up to inhale Derek’s lingering scent on it, calming down at the heady scent of warm vanilla and Derek.

"You should tell him," Peter says quietly as he serves up great helpings of pasta-bake onto three plates.

"No," Derek says without looking as he fills three glasses with water and gets the cutlery, his movements filled with familiarity as remembers the days he would come and visit Peter here when they both wanted to get away from the house for a while.

"He's going to figure it out," Peter tells him, and Derek glares before Stiles stumbles into the kitchen and over to small kitchen table the two werewolves have set up.

"Oh, that looks nice," Stiles rubs his hands as he comes over and takes a chair. "I'm impressed, at least one of you knows how to look after yourself."

"Excuse me?" Derek bites out as he drops into his chair while Peter snickers softly.

"Really? You're going to play the offended card?" Stiles gives him a look before stabbing some of the pasta. "You live in the ruin of your old house, you obviously don't know how to look at yourself."

And possible self-flagellation problems, Stiles manages not to say by stuffing himself with pasta and cheese.

"That will no longer be a problem," Peter breaks in smoothly, smiling as Derek glares at him suspiciously. "Derek can move in with me, I'm certain his old room is still untouched."

Derek stiffens slightly as he stabs at the pasta, it had been a long time since he stepped into the room Peter always kept for Derek, long before the fire, when Derek was with her.

Derek hadn't liked the looks Peter would shoot him after Derek got home from visiting her, he knew his uncle would have attempted to convince him to stop if he stayed with him, so Derek didn't, and his mother always cut Peter off when it looked like Peter was going to confront him.

Perhaps things would have been better if Peter had confronted him, perhaps Derek wouldn't have fallen completely and stupidly in love with a woman who lied to him and killed his family, perhaps then his family would still be alive and not dead because of him.

Stiles ignores the shared look that passes between the Hale’s if they wanted him they would have told him already.

Enjoying the hot meal in front of him, Stiles is reminded he hasn’t texted his dad or Scott since he went to the elderly care center to talk with Peter.

“Hey, where did you put my phone?” Stiles glances around, “I almost forgot to text my dad I wasn’t going to be home until later.”

“Ah, about that,” Peter takes a mouthful of hot pasta-bake, so he doesn’t have to finish the conversation.

“Peter...what happened?”

“Your dad might have a missing alert out for you, as the last time anyone saw you was an ex-coma patient walking out of the hospital with you in his arms,” Derek tries to explain lightly.

“Oh....oh, no, no. Shitshitshitshit! Peter where’s my phone! Oh no, my dad is going to kill me!” Stiles scrambles, “Well first HE’S probably going to kill you guys and then he’s going to kill me!”

“We could always run away, I hear Canada is nice this time of year,” Peter suggests, “Why stay in this shifty town when we can all just run away together? Like a big family.”

Stiles actually pauses and stares at Peter in disbelief.

"I thought me becoming a Beta would stop him being crazy," Stiles looks at Derek for an explanation, and the werewolf snorts into his glass of water while Peter pouts.

"That's just mean to your Alpha," Peter informs Stiles making the supposed human rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, now where's my phone?" Stiles demands as Peter gestures back to the living-room.

"On the side-table with your keys," Peter finally tells him, and Stiles almost slips as he runs from the kitchen. "Already I've lost his respect."

"Did you even have his respect?" Derek cocks a sceptical brow at his uncle, and Peter huffs as he grumbles into his pasta.

Stiles grimaces as he notices the number of missed calls he's had from his dad—fifty-five—and oh, wow, a whole five from Scott, and too many texts for him to count from his dad and about twenty from Scott.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles dials his dad's phone and it barely rings before his dad is picking up.

"Stiles!" his dad's voice has a frustrated edge to it that he's heard a dozen times before, but with a more frantic way of speaking that he's not used too. "Where are you? Are you safe?"

"Dad!" Stiles interrupts before he really gets going in his questions. "I'm fine, completely and utterly fine."

Apart from not being a werewolf or really human, Stiles finishes in his head.

"Where's Peter Hale?" his dad demands, and Stiles hesitates as he peers back into the kitchen where Peter's pouting while eating.

"Err," Stiles hedges. "Now before you get mad, or more mad, I thought I'd let you know he didn't kidnap me."

"Really?" his dad asks dryly. "So, I suppose he just carried you around in his arms and to your Jeep for fun after waking up from his coma?"

"Well, I passed out," Stiles begins before cringing.

"You passed out? Why? What happened? Why did you even go to see him in the first place?"

"I, err, well, those are very good questions," Stiles says with a nod.

“Son, just tell me where you’re at. Are you safe?” he can hear the worry in his dad’s voice, and it makes something in Stiles’ chest clench.

“Yeah, dad. I’m fine. I promise, I’m safe. Peter isn’t a crazy lunatic trying to kidnap me, I swear,” Stiles glances over at the Alpha, covering his speaker so he can ask, “Can I tell my dad where we’re at or is this a werewolf secret thing I don’t know about?”

“You can tell him,” Peter nods his head, “Besides I’m sure the hospital has some questions about my sudden disappearance.”

“Okay, cool,” Stiles tells his dad the address to Peter’s apartment and then talk for a bit more until his father tells him he’s almost there and hangs up.

Stiles glances at the text from Scott, making a face when he sees them before simply setting his phone back down on the table.

Coming back to the kitchen table, Stiles pokes at his pasta-bake for a while before giving in and starting to eat the meal again, trying not to let the anxiety stop him from eating.

Seeing both of his Beta’s eating the meal he provided makes something settle inside of Peter and he can’t help but preen when Stiles compliments the food.

Only for the whole room to freeze when a loud knock comes from the door.

“I’ll get it,” Peter grins, stopping Stiles from getting out of his seat. “The both of you finish your dinner.”

Peter gets up and heads to his door and opens it with a welcoming smile, "Ah, Noah, what a delight to see you again."

"Hale," Noah greets shortly, blue-grey-eyes narrowed. "Show me my son before I put a bullet in you."

"Really? After all our history?" Peter places a hand on his chest in mock hurt, and Noah stares at him flatly.

"It's because of our history that I'm warning you," Noah informs him flatly, and Peter twitches his lips into a smile as he steps back and gestures for him to come in.

"Stiles," Noah calls out the moment he steps into the apartment, and Stiles almost sends the chair flying back as he stands up quickly.

"Dad!" Stiles says as he hurries over, and Noah pulls Stiles into a hug by the back of his son's neck and presses a kiss to the side of Stiles' head.

"You're okay," Noah's eyes shut with relief as he holds his son close to him. "You're okay."

"Dad, I told you I was fine," Stiles tells him as he hugs his dad back. "I promise, Peter didn't kidnap me."

"He removed you from where you were, unconscious and without consent," Noah reminds him roughly as he glares as Peter, unconcerned, heads back into the kitchen and sits beside his recently released from custody nephew.

Why aren't I surprised by Derek Hale being somehow involved with this? Noah wonders dryly as he lets his protesting son go with one last squeeze.

"You're making a big deal out of nothing," Stiles protests as Noah keeps one hand on Stiles' shoulder, trying not to shake him when he sees the half-eaten plate of food—how many times did Noah tell him not to eat food any kidnapper gives him?! "I'm fine, we're both fine, and there was no kidnapping."

"Why were you even there? And—" Noah's questions stall as he finally notices that his son is wearing a red V-neck shirt, a V-neck he didn't own and probably belonged to the shirtless Peter Hale, and Noah pushes Stiles behind him as he glares at Peter. "What the hell did you do to my son?!"

"Dad!" Stiles yelps.

“What kind of weird sex cult do you think you’re going to drag my son into?” Noah growls, putting his hand on his holster just in case he needed to use it.

Peter rolls his eyes, smirking a little when he hears Derek choking in the kitchen.

“Oh please, it’s not a sex cult.”

Noah raises an eyebrow, “But it’s a cult.”

“Less cult, but it does involve the occult,” Peter Let’s his eyes burn red, “Or in this case, werewolves.”

“Werewolves,” Noah says with disbelief.

Peter nods his head, “Yes, werewolves.”



“I’m sorry, it’s just—am I hearing this right? Did you seriously say werewolves?”

Peter rolls his eyes, “I’ve been saying it for the past two minutes so yes, I did in fact say werewolves.”

“And my son is a werewolf? Did-did you force him to be one?!”


“No, but I will be forcing him to sign the adoption papers.”

"Peter!" Stiles glares at his Alpha. "You're not helping!"

"But I'm not lying," Peter says calmly as he lets the red leave his eyes and keeps his eyes on Noah. "You're part of my Pack, I've adopted you."

"What does that mean?" Noah keeps Stiles behind him.

"It means that Stiles is mine," Peter shrugs almost idly, and Noah's hand clenches around his gun.

"Oh my god!" Stiles slips out from behind Noah and stands between both men. "You two are adults! So act like it! Sit down, talk it out, figure it out! And come into the kitchen when you're done!"

Stiles stomps pass Peter and sits down beside a vaguely gobsmacked Derek.

"Eat," Stiles encourages as he scoops up another forkful of pasta, and Derek looks at Stiles then at where Peter and Noah are standing frozen, before deciding Stiles had the right idea.

"Well," Peter turns to Noah with a smirk. "It seems we have our orders."

Noah grumbles as he sits gingerly on the couch after Peter's gesture and Peter retakes his place on the leather armchair.

"Right," Noah begins, trying to take control of this 'chat' while Peter leans back in his chair and looking smugly at ease. "Let's start at the beginning."

"Do you mean the beginning as today when I first talked to your son or the start of these unfortunate events plaguing our lovely town?" Peter cocks a brow, and Noah rubs a hand over his face.

"Of course, you're involved with it," Noah sighs deeply. "Let's try the second one, gives me more time to get my head around werewolves."

Peter flinches a little with the way Noah says you’re, like Peter was just another bug under his shoe, and it hurts him a little, makes the burns on his face sting some more.

It hurts to lose another person he had considered safe and a friend, but he ignores the pain and the need to curl up on himself, make himself appear smaller so nobody will notice him.

He’s the Alpha now, and the Alpha does not run.

“Well, Sheriff, this all happened because my lovely dearest sister decided it would be okay to let her son be raped by an older woman. Said older woman who was disguising herself to be a substitute teacher so she could infiltrate the Hale house and burn us all in our sleep,” Peter lays everything out on the table right before him, letting his cards fold to show Noah the truth about what’s going on in this piece of shit of a town.

“You mean the Hale fire,” the man says with a little disbelief in his voice, “So it wasn’t an accident.”

“Of course not, Noah,” Peter laughs, and it sounds a little more deranged even to himself. “Do you seriously think an electrical miswiring could have caused an entire house to burn? Could have led an entire family to lock themselves in the basement? Humans, you never see what’s going on right in front of your eyes.”


“And after that, I was put into a medical ward for burn victims where I spent year after year slowly healing from my wounds and screaming inside of my head. The cherry on top was when the last of my family decided to ditch my burnt corpse to go live it up in New York, and then only to come back for my niece to be murdered by my own hands because I was fucking insane.”

Derek whines from he’s seated at the table, his stomach no longer able to handle the food that was made for them because Peter knows.

Of course he fucking knows, it’s his Uncle, Peter was always good at finding things out. Especially when it came to Derek, he always knew when Derek was hurt or sad, or hungry or needed someone to hold him.

But Derek always took a step back when Peter entered the room, especially after Paige. He was a stupid fucking teenager who thought he was in love, he should have listened to Peter, should have ran away from Kate when he had the chance.

“Derek? Hey, what’s wrong, big guy?” Stiles reaches out to touch him but pauses, afraid he’ll make matters worse if he does.

Derek flinches and leans forward, torn between not allowing Stiles to touch him and desperately wanting it.

Derek shouldn't allow it, Derek knows himself. If he allows Stiles to touch him now, to soothe him with comforting touches and words then he'll become greedy, greedy like he always becomes, and need more and more until he proves himself to be exactly like her.

And he'll ruin Stiles, ruin him like he always ruins everything or get him killed like he got Paige killed, and he can't do that to him, he can't!

He whines harder, louder, hurting and aching, and needing comfort he desperately has deny himself because if he does, if he gives in, he'll just take and take until Stiles is an empty husk of pain and trauma, and it'll be all be Derek's fault.

Hands, warm and slight callous from sports, touch him, burning him through his shirt, and Derek's turning, tumbling forward until his head hits Stiles' shoulder and he can tuck his nose against Stiles' neck, and he shudders and trembles with another whine as he takes deep and greedy breaths of Stiles' scent with a hint of his own scent mixed it.

It's awful, it's wonderful, it's Derek's deepest shame and greatest fantasy, and he should rip himself away from Stiles, run far away from the boy with his quick mind and quicker mouth, who is fearless despite the fear he holds, but then Stiles' holding him, holding him like Derek's something precious, and Derek sobs as he clutches back, and he drags Stiles onto his lap to hold him tight.

I'm going to ruin you, Derek thinks, but can't bring himself to say as one of Stiles' hands runs through his hair as he makes comforting noises.

Peter is on his feet the second Derek whines, and he hesitates as he almost hears the ghost of Talia.

"Leave him," she hisses in his ear, a memory of her claws prickling his shoulders. "He's my son, and he's fine, just trying to get attention."

Peter wavers, torn, and it's like he can feel Talia's claws in him, in his head.

But Talia isn’t there anymore, she’s dead. Dead, dead, dead. Burnt and buried six feet under the ground and isn’t here to hurt or hide Peter anymore when Derek needs someone to comfort him.

Ignoring Noah as he tries to get Peter’s attention, the Alpha stalks his way back into the kitchen. Pausing a little when he sees Stiles comforting Derek, comforting him in a way that Derek needed when he was growing up. He’s only been pack for a few hours and yet Stiles has taken to being a member in Peter’s pack like it was something he was born into.

Eyes glowing red as he walks closer, Peter hunches a little in one himself to show he isn’t an enemy as he whines in the back of his throat to get Derek’s attention.

The wolf looks up from where he had his face presses against Stiles’ throat and flashes blue-eyes at Peter, a low growl forming in his throat as he stares at the older man.

The Alpha in him wants to take Derek by the back of the neck and squeeze until he shows his neck and submits, how dare he growl at the Alpha. But his instincts don’t let him do so because even though he’s an Alpha, he’s a parent first.

Peter tilts his head to the side and whines again, which has Derek pause.

There’s a moment in which time feels like it’s frozen and then Derek whines and opens his arm for Peter.

The older wolf takes to it like a starved animal, curling up against Derek’s side and nosing at his throat, his fangs dropping so he can press them against Derek’s neck and claim the young man as his Beta, his son.

Both the wolves make soft growls and rumbling noises as they scent one another, their attention snapping towards Stiles when he tries to move away.

Mine,” Peter snarls, yanking the teenager into his arms so he can press his fangs to Stiles’ throat as well and rub his cheek over the top of his fluffy buzzcut.

“Uh, okay. This is a little weird, but also nice,” Stiles states as he’s being cuddled by two older men.

Noah watches from the archway as his son is cuddled between both Hale men, and the way Peter's rubbing his cheek against Stiles' head makes his heart clench.

He remembers Peter turning up at his house, newly eighteen and looking haunted as he asks for Claudia.

Claudia, older by Peter by two years and newly married, had herded the young man in and shut them up in room they were planning to turn into a nursey.

He remembers Claudia's fury as Peter is locked away in Eichen House later that year, having to hold her back when she sees Talia later as she goes around town with her newly born son and toddler daughter, the way Claudia had shouted at Talia, and how when Peter comes out the next year, he looks even more haunted when he comes to visit Claudia.

He remembers Peter, twenty and with a list of arrests of drunken behaviour, slinking almost sheepishly into Claudia's hospital room and Claudia handing over Stiles—Mischief, Mieczyslaw—over without hesitation and a sympathetic twist to her smile, and how Peter looked ready to burst into tears as he so carefully rubbed his cheek over Stiles' baby-soft hair.

He remembers arriving to Peter, twenty-nine, thirty, sitting beside Claudia and reading her books and telling her stories as her mind eats away at her until she isn't Claudia anymore.

He remembers Peter, thirty and solemnly dressed in black, as they bury her, the way he tenderly and gently wrapped Stiles into a hug afterwards.

And he remembers Peter, thirty-one, being pulled from the ruins of the Hale house and more burnt than anything, and yet somehow still alive as he calls for Derek, for Cora in a wrecked and smoke-rough voice.

Noah should have visited him, Noah knows, should have visited Claudia's best friend and made sure he was being properly cared for after Laura took Derek and ran or even just looked more seriously at the file, not allowed the official story to stand when he had been elected Sheriff.

But Noah had been grieving, grieving for Claudia, and Stiles had been acting out, being held back a grade, and he had been taking solace in the bottle more than people.

“Feeling better?” Stiles breaks the silence, not wanting to suffocate anymore from Derek’s lone suffering.

The older man just nods his head but doesn’t pull away from where he’s clinging onto Stiles. Not that Stiles minds—however when he thought about Derek clinging to him like this it was in a bed, without an audience and less clothes as well as less crying.

But he’s not going to push the man off when this is clearly the first time in a while he’s been touched.

“It’s okay, puppy,” Peter whispers against the top of Derek’s head, like he use to do when Derek has nightmares as a pup, and Peter would sneak into his room so he could comfort his puppy and whisper sweet bedtime stories until Derek was a sleep again.

He didn’t care if Talia growled at him the next day, his pup didn’t deserve to cry in his bed alone.

Peter looks up and pulls away reluctantly from Derek’s body when he knows the man isn’t going to break on him. Turning back to Noah he sees a steely look of determination in the older man’s eyes, and it has Peter coming towards him with cautious steps.

Who? Who set the fire, Peter?” The sheriff asks through grinding teeth, the man is about ready to drag the sky to the ground just to make things right.

Not for the Hale’s, he never trust Talia and her too sweet words, but for Peter and Derek. Even if he still has a lot of judgement against the man.

“Kate Argent,” Peter says simply.

“Allison’s aunt?!” Stiles pipes up, his eyes going wide.

Derek stiffens against Stiles, a shudder going through him at the mention of her name.

Stiles absently pats at Derek's shoulder as his mind races.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, is basically his dominate thought because Allison's Aunt, who Scott says is like her sister, is coming to visit like she always does when the family moves to somewhere new and he bets she wouldn't be happy to hear about Peter being up and about or that Derek is here or perhaps she'd be happy, happy to finish what she started?

Stiles feels sick, a cold sense of panic settling in, because Stiles has seen the pictures, okay?

He's got his own copy of the Hale fire file, and he's seen Kate's work printed out and put down in black and white, and knowing it's not an accident, it looks practised, looks like she's done it before, and he wonders how many other accidental fires he could find linked to a young pretty new teacher joining the nearby school.

"Stiles?" Noah takes a step forward, concern creasing his face as he watches Stiles pale while Peter moves back to place a hand on Derek's trembling back.

"She's coming here," Stiles says through numb lips. "She's coming to visit, Allison told Scott about it."

"What?" Derek rasps, torn between clutching at Stiles tighter and running as far and as fast as he can get from Beacon Hills.

"We'll deal with her," Noah promises and Peter turns to him, blue-eyes bleeding red.

"If you can't get the law too, I'll deal with her," Peter promises darkly.

Talia isn't here anymore to stop him doing everything he can to protect his pup.

Noah stares at Peter steadily, and he reminds himself that despite what the ID Derek carries say, the young man is only nineteen, and he thinks of Stiles at thirteen, just recovering from Claudia's death, still plagued with nightmares and panic-attacks, and he thinks of some woman taking an interest in Stiles, convincing him to do things he wasn't ready for, and he nods.

"We do have a rogue mountain lion around here."

“Oh yes, about that. You might as well tell animal control not to even bother,” a grin curls itself on Peter’s face.

“Let me guess—werewolves,” Noah frowns, a hand coming up to rub at his face.

“Werewolves,” Peter agrees.

“I need a while to process this all, Stiles you are going home—“

Peter and Derek snarl at once, both of them stepping in front of the teenager and flashing their eyes at the sheriff who takes a step back.

“Dude!” Stiles yelps, staring at the two wolves who look like they’re ready to jump his dad. “Not cool!”

“Sorry,” Peter is the first one to pull himself back, Derek a while later, “Stiles is still a freshly new pack member and our wolves don’t like the idea of being separated from him so earlier. Like I said, Stiles is mine.”

“Well he’s my son, damnit, Peter,” Noah snaps.

“Yes, and your son is going to be well off and safe here. Where I can watch over him, and make sure he learns what he needs to about being in my Pack,” Peter raises himself up so he can appear taller. “I need my Pack safe, Noah.”

Noah shifts, raises his chin up in defiance but then pulls himself back a little.

He can see the fire in Peter’s eyes, like he’s seconds away from going back to being that deranged monster Noah saw earlier.

Stiles sets a hand on Peter’s shoulder and it’s like something snaps in the man’s head and he’s just a normal man again, no wild animal howling inside of his head as he turns to stare down at the teenager.

“Peter, it’s okay. It’s just my dad, not an enemy,” Stiles tells the older wolf.

“He doesn’t smell like Pack. He can’t protect you like I can, Stiles. You’re my Beta, mine,” Peter growls.

“I know, Peter. It’s okay, I know you’re my Alpha. I know Alpha will keep me safe from the Hunters.”

The Alpha whines at that, the honest truth in Stiles’ words, the trust this kid has in him.

He’s dragging Stiles back into his arms, his wolf wants to bite at his throat to show he trusts him and will keep him safe, but the wolf doesn’t want to be vulnerable in front of a stranger.

Noah blows air out through his nose as he makes his decision, “Stiles can stay the night, but I will be calling hourly to check up on him. And if I don’t hear his voice, I will be bringing the whole station with me.”

"That's a bit over the top," Stiles says before adding hurriedly at the look on his dad's face. "I mean, it's fine, totally fine and completely normal. Lenient even."

"Uh-huh," Noah says as he watches his son before shaking his head. "Couldn't you have fallen into a normal gang or something?"

"You know me, I can't help but go above and beyond," Stiles grins at his dad, and Noah gives him a reluctant twitch of his lips.

"I want you home tomorrow," Noah continues, ignores the slight snarl that curls Derek's lips while Peter seems to hold himself back from doing the same. "You have school on Monday."

"You know, school seems vastly unimportant when it comes to werewolves and Hunters, and—" Stiles cuts himself off at Noah's unimpressed look. "I mean, school, yeah, the most important thing in my life."

Noah snorts, unimpressed and unsurprised, before turning to Peter.

"I am trusting you to keep him safe," Noah tells the younger man. "I'll drop around his things later, he'll need to take his pills and you have to make sure he doesn't accidentally take too many or he'll be up all night reading ever book in this apartment."

Stiles opens his mouth to protest before closing it, really, he'd probably try to do it on purpose just to read all the books Peter gave him.

"Of course," Peter nods, and Noah sighs.

"I'll call off the search for both of you, make something up," Noah says finally before looking at Stiles. "Don't stay up all night, okay? If you have homework, make sure you actually complete it."

"Please, I already did everything," Stiles says, he has to do it almost as soon as it's given or otherwise he'll forget about it until it's four am and he has school in a few hours, and he's just surfaced after following a Wikipedia-spiral, and realises he has a mountain of homework to complete.

It may or may not have happened several times in past, and Stiles has learnt from his mistakes.

Noah and Stiles share one last hug before his father finally departs and Stiles is tuck with the Hale’s again, not that he’s bothered by this predicament at all because books.

“Well, that was a fun family evening,” Peter grins, although the edges on his control are slowly starting to drop.

The Den was invaded by an outsider, His wolf snarls inside of his skull. Ours. Ours. The boy belongs to us. We need to mark him.

“Stiles, I’m about to do something. Please don’t scream,” Peter says.

Stiles opens mouth to ask, only to freeze when he hears the sound of something akin to bones snapping.

Peter growls and his body shifts and grows, fur covering his entire body as he starts to turn into the Alpha shift, one that he had been using to get around and kill the people who burned his pack.

His face comforts into something between a wolf and a man, and when he’s finished shift, he has to hunch over just to fit in the small apartment height.

“Holy shit,” Stiles breaths as he starts up at Peter’s form, he squeaks when the beast picks him up like he’s a rag doll and takes him into a room with a massive bed in it. “Oh um-okay, this is a little—wow, this is fast. Um, Derek?”

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek says, removing himself of his clothes and joining his Alpha and Stiles in the bed.

Curling around Stiles’ smaller form and sniffing at Peter’s fur, he feels the shift over take his features and hopes he doesn’t startle Stiles with how ugly his face looks. “It’s a Pack thing.”

“Huh. Okay then,” Stiles says as he being cuddled by a giant Wolfman on one side, and a naked sexy Wolfman on the other.

Okay, this is perfectly normal, just a Pack thing, just a Pack thing where I'm being cuddled by one of the most sexiest men I've ever seen while he's naked. Totally normal, not something to freak out about or get aroused about, specially aroused about because they will totally smell it out, and oh god, don't do this to me, Stiles directs the last thought to his traitorous cock as it twitches in his boxers.

Perhaps the jeans will disguise it? Stiles hopes, glad he wears more baggy jeans than most people do, and tries to move his mind to something else.

Puppies, puppies are cute and very much not arousing, Stiles thinks to himself, but then he remembers Peter calling Derek pup, and then wonders if Derek would like to be called pup when having sex which sends him into a vivid fantasy of him calling Derek a naughty pup as he licks and sucks at Stiles' cock.

Stiles lets out a strangled sound as he feels himself twitch more and he moves his hands to cover his flushing face because he's pretty sure his jeans can't hide his scent of arousal.

"Oh my god," Stiles whimpers as he feels Derek shift against him and feels Peter sniff and huff against his hair. "Be merciful and strike me down now."

"It's fine," Derek says gruffly, trying not to breathe in deep and greedy breaths of the scent of Stiles' arousal—he needs to stop being so greedy. "You're only sixteen, everything turns you on. It's normal."

"Seventeen," Stiles corrects as Peter nuzzles against his hair in an attempt to comfort his destressed Beta. "I'm, uh, actually seventeen."

Peter takes in Stiles’ words, and saves them for later, for when he’s alone with his pup and they can talk about things and such.

“It’s okay, Stiles,” Derek presses a little closer, not wanting to make the teenager suffer in his own humiliation.

Peter makes a soft noise above them, and licks at both of their cheeks, trying to get more of his scent on his two Beta’s before settling down with his head on top of Stiles’ chest.

“Huh,” Stiles says mostly to himself, running his fingers through Peter’s fur like he’s a massive dog, although he’s keeping that comment to himself because he’s pretty sure neither Derek nor Peter would like to be called a dog. “You’re like ridiculously soft.”

Peter rumbles pleased as Stiles returns to scent marking, the human may not even know what he’s doing right now. But it’s fine, Stiles has plenty of time to learn everything he can about pack and what it’s like to be in one.

His thoughts are turned to his other Beta, or Scott as Stiles has told him his name is.

The older wolf no longer wants anything to do with the Beta he made in desperate attempt at pack, if Scott wasn’t so stubborn and had joined him things would have been fine. But now, after hearing news that Scott is sleeping with the enemies daughter, it has his mouth pulling back in a snarl.

He’ll have to figure out what to do with the Beta, but for now he needs to comfort his pups.

"Can you shift like this?" Stiles asks Derek as he strokes Peter's head, amusing himself with playing with Peter's wolfy ears.

"No," Derek shakes his head as he presses his brow against Stiles' shoulder, taking in the utter lack of fear in Stiles' scent and heartbeat with something close to wonder. "It's an Alpha form, only Alpha's can shift into it."

"So, an Alpha may have been responsible for the Hollywood's idea of werewolves," Stiles muses as Peter flicks his ear out of Stiles' grasp. "So, is silver a real thing or is it because of, well, the Argent's?"

"The Argent's," Peter rumbles out, his voice somewhat distorted voice, and Stiles stares down at Peter wide-eye for a moment.

"Oh shit, you can talk in this form? That's awesome!" Stiles cups Peter's face and looks very eager. "Does that mean your vocal-cords are still human? Or is it some form of magic? Like your mind thinks you should still be able to talk and you just do? Because like, I heard you shift with all the bones breaking and urgh, kinda yuck to be honest, so I know your bones have shifted and changed, and probably your muscles too," Stiles' hands move over Peter's impressively broad shoulders. "Like you need muscles in a different place for you to be able to move in this form on four-legs and two, but does that mean your organs and shit change too? Does that mean you can't eat chocolate in this form?"

Suddenly his enthusiasm dims and he snaps his jaw with an almost audible snap as his scent sours with embarrassment, and Stiles coughs as he releases Peter's shoulders.

"Sorry," Stiles says awkwardly, cursing himself for forgetting himself and being too much—like normal.

Derek shifts to look at Stiles with a frown of confusion at why he stopped, and Peter rumbles as he shifts slightly to stare up at Stiles.

"It's magic," Peter explains, but Stiles notices his mouth doesn't move which makes Stiles' jaw drop again. "The Pack bond is letting me talk to you."

"So, your vocal-cords do change!"

Peter chuckles at the teenagers enthusiasm, “In a way they do and do not, I’m half a man and half a wolf in this form. I can speak but long sentences are hard which is why I use the pack bond.”

“Wait, like telepathy? Oh my god, you’re like Charles Xavier. Except, a little more Eric than Charles,” Stiles snorts at the reference, “But um...yeah, that’s really cool.”

He tries to keep the excitement inside of him down, not wanting to annoy either of the Hale’s with his excitable chatter or annoying questions. He already annoyed the fuck out of Scott, he doesn’t need to do the same to these two and kill any respect that they might have for him.

“I can smell your need to ask more questions, Stiles,” Peter tells him, his eyes cracking open so he can stare down at the human with his glowing red eyes. “You can keep asking, pup, I don’t mind the questions.”

“Oh no, it’s okay,” Stiles fidgets with the sleeves of his shirt, “I don’t want to annoy you.”

“You’re not annoying, Stiles,” Derek tells him, nudging against Stiles’ shoulder.

“Well, I mean—it’s just—Scott usually gets annoyed when I talk too much. And mostly, everyone else also gets annoyed.”

"We're not Scott or anyone else," Peter reassures the boy, his opinion of the other Beta lowering further.

"I'll tell you to shut up if I think you're annoying," Derek tells him, and Stiles hesitates for a moment before beginning more slowly as if waiting for them to change their minds or for Derek to tell him to shut up.

"Werewolves have heightened senses, right? Which probably means you pick up chemosignals that we give off without realising it, which means you can pick up how we're feeling. I was wondering if you're human mind associates certain emotions with normal smells. Because that's kind of cool to think about, and then it makes me think what if how you smell one emotion is different to how another werewolf would smell that emotion due to upbringing or stuff," Stiles begins, biting his lip as he kind of forgets what he wanted to ask, and just rambles. "Like, I suppose the smell of sprouts would invoke disgust in me, so if I could scent chemosignals would I smell sprouts when someone is disgusted because of that association? And would another wolf, who grew up and liked sprouts, smell something different?"

Derek snorts slightly, "I wouldn't say disgust smells like sprouts."

"What? Then what does it smell like then?" Stiles demands, and Derek props himself up with a hand as he lies on his side and shrugs one shoulder.

"Like disgust," Derek says, and Stiles gapes at him.

"That is so unhelpful for the person with a human nose," Stiles informs him. "And what if it really does smell like sprouts? But you don't make the connection because of something else."

"Why would it smell like sprouts?" Derek asks as his lips twitch as he watches Stiles gesture as he speaks.

"Well, do you like sprouts?" Stiles demands, and Derek makes a face.

"No, they're sprouts," Derek says in disgust, and Stiles gestures at Derek in triumph.

"See?! They have to be disgust!" Stiles almost crows as Peter snorts and closes his eyes as he listens to his pups.

The conversation carries on for a while longer until Stiles’ brain decides to shut down and he falls asleep with his hands fisted into Derek’s hair, and his face against Derek’s chest.

Derek blinks a few times, trying not to let himself fall asleep but then he feels Peter’s nose nudging him and the werewolf is curling around Stiles’ smaller body, nosing at the back of Stiles’ neck before falling asleep as well.

Peter feels something snap in place inside of him, right where the pack bond would be at and he wants nothing more than to howl with joy as he feels the bond between his pups strength. But he stays silent and curls closer around his two pups.

He has his son back, he has his precious puppy that he’s missed so much.

And he has Stiles, the little spit fire that he knows he’s going to enjoy having in his pack.

The way Stiles had zeroed in on the books and read them like they were the holy grail, Peter knew a book lover when he saw it, and he could tell Stiles had walked into the world of the supernatural with open arms and a hungry mind for knowledge.

He settled there, and let himself rest for a moment, knowing they’ll have to deal with the Argents next and the reawakening of Derek’s trauma as she comes back.

A part of him hopes for everyone’s safety that Kate gets sent to jail. But the other part of him, the one that emerged when Talia took away his pup and then locked him in a psych ward for a year as she fed Derek with her lies and half love.

That part wants blood, that part wants to strangle Kate and yet thank her for killing the people who hurt him the most and took away the only good thing in his life, and then after that he wants to bite her, wants to tear her open slowly and rip her to shreds that not even her dental records could identify her body.

He knows if he does that, that Noah won't blame him, he'll just write it down to a missing person who had the bad luck to run into the rogue mountain lion.

He knew that the moment Noah's gaze moved from Derek and to Stiles, knew the moment Noah thought about what she had done to Derek and put Stiles in Derek's place, and knew Noah would look the other way on her disappearance and death.

Though the real problem, Peter knows, would be the Argent's already in town.

Peter curls tighter around his two pups as he thinks about them.

Victoria, the cold-hearted and cruel bitch, wouldn't give up until she saw all his Pack in ground and wouldn't blink an eye at Kate's crimes nor would she accept the fact that Kate brought it upon herself.

No, she'd look at Peter and sneer as she said he and his deserved it.

But Chris...

He remembers warm blue-eyes, rough hands smoothing down his back, kisses pressed over his face, words of love said against his skin.

He remembers choking back bile as he hugs that warm body, feeling strong arms wrap around him securely, remembers tears being kissed away as Peter tries desperately to force the words out, remembers the teasing remark that Peter must have gained weight as thumbs stroke over his soft stomach.

He remembers desperately holding tightly to those broad-shoulder, pressing frantic kisses to the bite he placed over Chris' heart, clinging to his scent when Chris had to leave.

Chris may listen to Peter if only because of their history, or he may turn away because of that very history. It was hard to tell, it had been so long since Peter had seen him, and the years have no doubt changed them both.

He wonders with a hint of bitterness and envy what his daughter, Allison, looks like.

Did she have the same cold and cruel eyes as her mother? Or did she have Chris' warmer and sometimes even gentle heart? Or did she follow her aunt's footsteps and beds werewolves before destroying their whole world?

Stiles grumbles awake when his phone goes off, patting at his pockets until he pulls his phone out of his pocket and puts it up to his ear.

“Dad, I already told you I was fine. Can I go back to sleep?” Stiles mumbles half awake.

“Stiles! Where are you! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Scott screams into the phone, causing Stiles to flinch away and Peter and Derek to stir.

Getting out from under the great weight of two werewolves on top of him, Stiles moves to the living room, so he doesn’t disturb the wolves any further.

“Dude, lower your voice there’s no need to scream my ears out,” Stiles huffs at his best friend.

No reason!? Stiles, where are you? Your dad has been looking all over for you and there was word out that you were kidnapped! By Peter Hale!” Scott keeps yelling.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “I’m fine, and I wasn’t kidnapped. I may have had a damsel in distress moment to which Peter helped me not break my head open on the ground. Anyways, it’s all good, I was just in the middle of pack cuddles.”


Stiles flinches at the volume, “Dude, can you chill? You’re gonna wake up Peter and Derek.”

"What?! Peter and Derek?! What the fuck Stiles?! Why are you with them?! What's going on!! Does your dad know?! You need to get out of there!" Scott continues, barely taking any notice to Stiles request for him to stop fucking screaming.

"Scott, please, I just woke up and you're giving me a headache," Stiles rubs at his temple, and he can almost feel the disbelief Scott's radiating at him through the phone—he has a gift for that.

"Stiles!" Scott snaps, annoyance and disbelief dripping from his tone in a way that makes Stiles teeth grit and his shoulders hunch. "Why are you with Peter and Derek? Do I need to get Mr Argent?"

"Tell me you did not just seriously suggest going to a Hunter," Stiles interrupts firmly, his voice in a low hiss of displeasure.

"Peter Hale kidnapped you! You obviously need help," Scott hisses back, a hint of petulant in his tone, and Stiles grits his teeth.

"He didn't kidnap me, there was no kidnapping involved," Stiles tells him firmly, hoping this time it would actually get through to his friend. "Dad's already been here, he knows it's a big misunderstanding and has probably already sorted it out."

"And he left you? With them?" there's something appalled in Scott's tone, something disgusted, and it makes Stiles angry, makes him want to snap and rage at his best friend, but Scott doesn't respond well with anger, just makes him more convinced he's right and all the more stubborn about it.

Stiles takes a deep breath, counting back from ten before he replies, "Yes, my Dad came, he met Peter and spoke to him, a reasonable and adult conversation, and he felt it was safe enough to leave me with both Peter and Derek."

"But why?" Scott demands, a complete lack of understanding in his tone.

"Because I'm Pack," Stiles informs him, almost snappish, and he winces as he breaches himself.

"What?!" Scott doesn't disappoint as he roars down the phone with a hint of werewolf growl. "You were bitten?"

“Eh, sort of? Like, I got the bite, but I didn’t turn into a werewolf—actually I’m not really sure what I am,” Stiles shrugs it off, wandering over to the kitchen to see if Peter has anything good hidden in there.

He grins wickedly when he finds a plastic container of cookies and pulls it open so he could munch on one.

“What! Okay, I think I need to call in Mr. Argent, you’ve obviously been brainwashed by the Alpha!” Scott yells through the phone.

Before Stiles can respond, the phone is snatched out of his hand and Peter is standing in the kitchen bare naked and looking like he’s ready to murder someone and eat them. Like Hannibal Lecter, Stiles’ mind tells him.

“Scott McCall, right? You know, it took me a while to remember the last name McCall, and then I remembered your mother use to be one of my nurses. Sweet woman, really, and she was also one of the nicer ones,” Peter says with a false sweetness to his voice.

“You stay away from my mom,” Scott snarls, “What have you done with Stiles!”

“Nothing he didn’t ask for,” Peter smirks at the growl on the other side of the phone. “Now that I have your attention, I want you to listen good, and listen well, Scott. I may have given you the bite, which I do apologize for, if I were in my right mind I simply would have ignored you since you obviously aren’t cut out for being a werewolf. But listen here, if you ever threaten to send the Argents after us I will take you mother and I will force you to watch as I do unspeakable things to her.”

“What are you going to do?” Scott says with terror in his voice.

“I can’t say, it’s unspeakable,” Peter turns to hang up the phone, but then pauses, “And if you do see Mr. Argent, tell him...tell him I said the pumpkins are nice this year around.”

“What does that—“

Peter hangs up and hands Stiles back his phone, snatching up a chocolate chip cookie and chewing on it.

“Are these homemade?”

“Yes,” Peter tears into a second one.

“They’re really good,” Stiles says, not bothering to ask what that last part was about.

"Thank you," Peter says as he hands Stiles another cookie and begins his third one.

"So," Stiles nibbles on his cookie. "What would you have done to Mrs McCall?"

"Treated her to an under seasoned meal with truly god awful music," Peter informs him with a little shudder. "Truly unspeakable."

Stiles snorts as he eats the rest of his cookie, "The work of a mad man."

Peter hums in agreement with a smirk, his eyes dancing with amusement, "I did say I liked her."

Stiles looks at his phone and stuffs it in his pocket, "He's going to be a problem, isn't he?"

Peter pauses as looks at Stiles, "You don't seem surprised by that."

Stiles shrugs as he toys with a crumble, "Scott...Scott hasn't really been acting himself," Stiles frowns slightly before correcting himself, "well, he's acting more assholery than usual, so yeah."

"The bite can sometimes bring out people's worst traits," Peter tells him, trying to be delicate. "To go from a normal human to a something with so much powerful? It can be overwhelming, and not something I would have given someone without consent or them truly understanding what they were getting into in my right mind. But it was my first full moon as an Alpha, I needed a Pack, I suppose it was a good thing I still went to the Preserve."

Stiles nods before pausing and frowning at Peter, "What do you mean? Still went into the Preserve? Weren't you already there?"

Peter looks at him puzzled, "Why would I be already there? I was in my room until moonrise."

"But Laura..." Stiles trails off as his mind whirls. " didn't rip her in half."

Peter rears back in surprise and disgust, "What? No! She was my niece! I may have killed her, but I made sure she was buried."

"What?" Derek asks in disbelief from the kitchen archway, looking confused. "But.."

"Someone else found her," Stiles realises with a sick lurch that says the cookies may have not be the best idea. "Someone found her and cut her in half, leaving her to be found that way."

Peter’s eyes begin to burn red, “Argent’s. That can only be their doing, it’s like a declaration of war to them to cut wolves in half.”

“That’s disgusting. She was already dead!”

Peter’s head tilts to the side, “They’re hunters, what else could you expect from them. Kindness?

There is nothing kind about what they do; murder, rape, arson, and butchering is wolves like it’s a game.

They treat us like a fun little witch hunt that you get the entire neighbourhood to join in on, as you chase after teenage werewolves and then drag them out of their homes so you can beat them to death and then string them up,” Peter snarls. “I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them all.”

“Okay, okay, let’s just calm down. Take a few deep breaths. Does someone need to cuddles again?” Stiles opens his arms for his Alpha, flinching when Peter growls under his breath.

“No, I don’t need cuddles, Stiles,” The older man huffs, Derek raises an eyebrow at him in silence and Peter growls again. “Fine. Maybe I do need cuddles.”

He pulls the boy into his arms and lifts Stiles up like one does when they’re carrying around their house cat. The wolf huffs and growls, nosing all over Stiles’ body until he’s satisfied and has calmed down.

"I now understand what a cat or a small dog feels like when they are picked up by their owner," Stiles informs Peter with a thoughtful frown. "I'm not sure I am happy about that or not."

Derek snorts, he doubts he'll ever understand how Stiles' mind works.

There's a knock on the door and Stiles' eyes widen as he realises it could be his dad as he looks at Derek, very naked Derek.

"Bedroom! Bedroom! He can't see you naked! He'll definitely think sex cult then!" Stiles shoos at Derek from his place in Peter's arms, and Derek snorts as he heads back to Peter's bedroom while Peter heads to the door with Stiles in his arms.

Peter shifts Stiles almost absently until the teenager's perched on his hip much like a small child, and Stiles blushes as he covers his face as Peter opens the door one-handed.

"I'm not even going to ask," Noah decides as he takes in his son being carted around like a small child by Peter despite the fact Stiles is probably nearing Peter's height, and just holds out a blue duffle-bag to Peter. "His things, I can see you have him well in hand."

Noah's mouth twitches as Stiles gives a pathetic whine as he drops his head on Peter's bare shoulder.

"Don't worry, Noah," Peter smirks as he plays along with the joke. "I know how to deal with kids his age."

"I'm seventeen! Not seven!" Stiles complains as he glares at the chuckling men. "Go! Now! I need no more witnesses to this!"

"Have fun with him," Noah tells Peter, acting like Stiles isn't there. "He can be a handful when he's grumpy."

"Oh my god," Stiles bangs his head against Peter's shoulder.

"I'm well used to dealing with grumpy children," Peter smirks and Noah chuckles. "See you tomorrow, Sheriff."

"Peter," Noah nods before turning to Stiles. "Be good."

"Still seventeen," Stiles pouts at his father.

"And more prone to trouble," Noah replies before turning to leave as Peter steps back into his apartment, and shuts and locks the door—can't be too careful with Argent's about.

“Shall I get you your juice box now?” Peter teases, smirking as he hears Derek loosing himself with laughter in the bedroom.

Stiles crosses his arms and huffs, “You know what, I don’t like you anymore. Put me down, I’m leaving.”

“No,” Peter growls, pressing Stiles against his body as he rubs his cheek against the top of Stiles’ head. “You’re mine now.”

“Ugh, you send like a possessive ex. Ew,” Stiles pushes, squawking when Peter sets him on the couch and drops his duffle bag on top of him. “Meanie!”

“I thought you said you weren’t seven. Now, come on it’s time for big boys to take their showers,” Peter grins as Stiles throws his shoe at him, he would have hit Peter in the chest if it weren’t for his superhuman reflexes that caught the shoe.

“The worst! And I’m seventeen!” Stiles yells, snatching up his duffle bag and going to the bathroom.

“What kind of seventeen-year-old wears Superman boxers?”

“I do, jackass,” Stiles calls back, before closing the bathroom door, huffing only there for a few minutes before starting up the shower.

Peter snickers to himself before turning to watch Derek enter the room, dressed in sweats again.

“Stop messing with him. You know he’s just going to get even more frustrated,” Derek grins, but also means his words because he doesn’t want Peter making fun of Stiles when Scott is already a horrible person.

“Only a little bit of teasing, but I will be getting him some new clothes. He looks like a toothpick trying to play dress up in those things.” Peter answers.

The bathroom door pops open and Stiles sticks his head out with a glare.

"I heard that!" Stiles informs him. "And I like my clothes."

"The clothes that make you look like you're in middle-school and trying on your older brother's clothes for fun?" Peter asks in disbelief, and Stiles squawks in offense.

"Shame on you!" Stiles points at Peter, his arm bare showing he had been stripping when he caught Peter's comment, and Peter takes in the muscle on it that had been completely hidden by his clothes.

"You mean shame on your wardrobe," Peter quips, and Stiles makes a face at him before pulling back into the bathroom and shutting the door. "We're going shopping before the weekend ends! You will be going to school as a brand new person."

"Shopping is terrible!" Stiles calls over the shower.

"You either come with me or I will sneak into your house in the middle of the night and switch all your clothes anyway," Peter calls back as Derek shakes his head.

"And I wondered why the Sheriff automatically thought of a sex cult when he saw you," Derek says dryly as he drops down on the couch and looks around the apartment and the white sheets they still had to remove from the furniture.

"I have no idea what you mean," Peter informs him almost primly as he goes to get the cookies from the kitchen and handing the container over to Derek, and begins to properly get his apartment in order.

Derek snorts as he bites into his first cookie, his eyes fluttering shut as they taste just like they used too.

Peter always saved extra cookies for Derek, not even Cora got as many extra as Derek got and she had been Peter's favourite niece.

Peter would always slide them over with a secretive smirk and go, "Just our secret, okay pup?" and Derek always eagerly grinned back and took them.

Mom put a stop to it at the house when Laura told on them, Mom said Peter had been spoiling him and he had been greedy keeping all the cookies to himself.

But his mom wasn’t here anymore to take that away from him, so Derek let himself veg on the cookies, enjoying the homemade cookies that he hasn’t had since he was little.

Peter preens when he catches Derek eating the cookies he gave him. He wants to go over there, purring and smother his son with his scent, wants to give Derek the love his son deserves but never got because of Talia.

But he’s not sure if Derek is ready to hear the truth about his parents, he already lost Laura, he might not be ready to lose more.

When he sees Derek frown at the empty container, something pushes Peter to walk into the kitchen and grab the second container and then hand it over to Derek.

“Don’t you want to save some for Stiles?” Derek asks, looking at the container in his hands.

Peter remembers Derek asking him that same question when he was younger, Peter had made his son Christmas cookies. And Laura of course thought she should get some too, which had Peter snapping at the teenager.

Those were for his pup, not her—he loved Laura very dearly. More than he loved his sister, but sometimes she looked too much like her, talked too much like her, and Peter hated her.

Talia would never treat Derek the same way she treated the girls, Derek would always be the bastard child who sat at the end of the table away from everyone else like they were afraid of catching a disease from him. No one spoke to him or paid him attention.

Peter did, only when he was allowed to and could sneak out of his hiding place, and his puppy always soaked up the attention, until Derek got older and started to hate Peter for something that wasn’t in his control.

“He can have some later, but for now they’re all yours, pup,” Peter smiled, wanting to lean down and press a kiss to Derek’s forehead in an almost motherly way.

But the last time he tried to do that, Derek had snapped at him and Talia had thrown him down the stairs.

Derek had only been twelve and it was just after Paige’s death.

Peter hadn't liked the girl, had loathed her in fact, thought it wasn't right for Derek to be in relationship so young.

It was bad enough that Derek had been twelve and in High school, but actually dating one of his classmates who was the right age? No, it wasn't right.

Chris had been four years older than Peter when they were together, but Peter had still be sixteen, had those years and the maturity—questionable though it was—to handle a more adult and sexual relationship.

Truthfully, it was only that she hadn't pressured Derek for sex that stopped him from snapping her neck.

Peter had wanted to put a stop to it the moment Derek told him, had been ready to go to Paige and remind her that Derek was only twelve, but Talia had stepped in, told him that it was fine, that it's normal for High schoolers to have relationships.

"Most high schoolers aren't twelve-years-old, Talia!" Peter had snapped, snarling at her and her totally unconcerned face.

"He's a big boy now, Peter," Talia told him firmly. "He can handle himself against some human girl."

Peter had tried to get Derek to remind her, tried to get him to think how she'd feel if she found out the truth, but his pup took it the wrong way, thought it was about him being a werewolf—which yes was a concern, but not his main concern at the time.

Then Ennis came to town, mourning the loss of his Beta and hungry for revenge, and somehow the girl caught his attention—he isn't sure if Derek did ask him to bite her, or Ennis had overheard Peter's dislike about her, or if he had just smelled Derek on the girl—but it didn't matter, she had been bitten, she had been dying, and Derek had to give her mercy.

His little pup, twelve-years-old and blue-eyed because of some stupid little girl who had no business involving herself with a twelve-year-old in that manner, and Derek blamed him, and Talia loved every moment of it, loved seeing Derek turn away from Peter and break his heart.

She could never stop punishing Peter for what Robert had done to him, never could stop seeing Peter as the person responsible for what happened instead of—and he loathes to think it—the victim in it.


He’s shaken out of his memory from Stiles’ voice as the human comes up behind him, Stiles’ eyes immediately drawn to the plastic container that had been destroyed in the Alpha’s hands.

“Peter what’s wrong?” Stiles sets a hand on the older man’s shoulder, freezing a little when he sees a few tears slipping down Peter’s cheek.

The man shakes his head and turns to look at Stiles, “Don’t worry about it, pup, it’s just me getting a little emotional.”

Peter looks at the shirt Stiles is wearing, his eyes flashing red when all he smells is the other Beta on his Stiles.

“I don’t like that shirt, take it off,” he demands.

“Is this another pack thing?” Stiles ask, raising an eyebrow as he takes off his shirt.

“Yes,” Peter leaves and then comes back with Derek’s shirt he was wearing earlier, “Here, put this on.”

“You’re so weird,” Stiles comments, and it just makes Peter smile when he hears the skip in Stiles’ heart.

“Derek has some cookies if you want a bite of them, other than that we’re going back to bed,” Peter tells him.

“Derek, you better have not eaten all the cookies!” The teenager yells as he runs into the living room to try and grab some of the few cookies remaining.

The werewolf smirks and turns to make a comment, but when he sees the shirt Stiles is wearing his eyes flash blue, and Derek turns to give his uncle a murderous glare.

Stiles takes advantage this moment of inattention, and tackles Derek with a war-cry, hand snapping out and snatching the cookies as he sits smugly on top of Derek.

"I win!" Stiles grins down at Derek in victory as Derek stares mutely up at him and tries not to breath in the scent of him and Stiles. "Hey, did I break you?"

"I'm fine," Derek says gruffly as he pushes Stiles' off of him, and steadying the container so cookies don't go everywhere.

"You were doing that mute frowny thing," Stiles frowns up at him, unbothered of being pushed over and just laying kind of sprawled next to Derek on the ridiculously soft and large couch that probably cost more than his laptop.

"Mute frowny thing?" Derek repeats almost blankly as he stares down at Stiles and takes the container from Stiles' lax hand.

"Yeah, like this," Stiles tries to mimic Derek's face, but it only makes Derek snort and shove a cookie into his face. "Ah! Attack cookie!"

Derek snorts out a laugh, and Stiles grins up at him, pleased at making him laugh before taking a bite out his cookie.

"Seriously, what's wrong?" Stiles chews on his cookie before pointing at Derek with it. "Is it because I'm wearing your shirt? Because I can totally take off if you don't like me wearing it."

"No," Derek looks away as he eats a cookie, willing himself not to blush noticeably. "Wear it, I don't mind."

"Cool because it's really kind of comfy even though I think it must be like two sizes too small for you," Stiles takes another bite of his cookie, and Derek side-eyes him.

"Why do you think that?" Derek asks as he silently hands Stiles another before taking one for himself.

"Because it almost fits me," Stiles snorts, a silent "duh" clear in his voice, and Peter frowns thoughtfully as he looks at Stiles as realises the teenager is right. "And you are like, what? Two hundred pounds of pure muscle? It should dwarf me, but it doesn't which says you've been buying things too small for you."

Peter gives Derek a look, which has the younger werewolf glancing away from him and shrugging.

“It’s just a shirt. Besides, you wear ones two sizes too big,” Derek jabs back, hunching in on himself a little bit.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Well, I’m a skinny guy and people happen to like that kind of thing.”

“I doubt people enjoy the sight of a starved looking twink.”

“I am not starving,” Stiles grumbles to himself and shoved another cookie into his mouth.

“You’re both very handsome men, but yes Stiles, I have to agree with Derek. You look starved,” Peter says, coming behind the couch to wrap his arms around Stiles and hug his Beta, “It’s okay, we’ll feed you though.”

“Human meat?”

“Why of course! Only the blood of your enemies will put some meat on those bones finally,” Peter teases.

“Great, because I’ve had enough of Harris harassing me and bullying me for having ADHD,” Stiles says a little jokingly.

Those were the wrongs words to say however, because next thing he knows Peter is shifting and his eyes are glowing red as he bares his fangs.

“I’m going to tear him apart with my teeth,” Peter snarls.

"No, Peter!" Stiles sits up. "We don't kill asshole teachers! Otherwise we'll have a very serious lack of them! And we have enough problems getting teachers as it is!"

Derek gives Stiles a look, "That's your argument?"

Stiles gives Derek a look before something seems to occur to him and he coughs, "I mean, he's not worth it?"

Derek gives him a disappointed look for even trying, and Stiles shrugs, "What? I can't help but sometimes thing it would serve him right to die. It's a bad thought, I know, but shit, he's an asshole even worse than Jackson, Jackson Derek. If you knew him, you'd know that's a very serious statement."

"I thought we were trying to stop Peter from killing people," Derek points out dryly, and Stiles gives a sheepish look.

"Oops?" Stiles offers, and Derek rolls his eyes while trying to not let his mouth twitch. "Hey, it was meant to be a joke!"

"Yes, a joke about someone is harassing you and bullying you to your new Alpha running on protective instincts," Derek says in that dry tone of his that Stiles feels ashamed to once thought was bland or something like that.

Peter can't help, but calm as he watches his pups together as they bicker.

"Okay, when you put it like that, it sounds like a really stupid joke," Stiles pouts at the look Derek throws him before the werewolf takes a bite out of a cookie. "Stop looking at me like that! I can't stand how judgey your eyebrows are!"

Those eyebrows become even more judgemental, and Stiles feels so sassed by them.

"Forget murder-brows, you have sassy-brows," Stiles informs Derek, and he almost chokes on his cookie.

"Murder-brows?" Derek demands after he swallows his cookie with difficulty.

"They are seriously like serial-killer brows, dude," Stiles says as he gestures to Derek's eyebrows, and Peter snorts as he's never seen Derek look so confused and offended in his life. "But they are really sassy-brows which relieves me, because I thought they were plotting my murder."

"You thought my eyebrows were plotting your murder?" Derek questions in disbelief, and Stiles makes a face.

"When you say it that way, it sounds stupid," Stiles argues. "I thought they were telling me that you were plotting my murder."

"You thought I wanted to kill you?" Derek almost looks stricken, and Stiles shrugs as he scratches his neck awkwardly.

"Well," Stiles drags out the word, "you did look a bit murdery towards the Stiles in the police car."

"You just got me arrested!" Derek protests before giving Stiles a look. "Did you just refer to yourself as 'the Stiles?'"

"What?" Stiles makes a face and makes a dismissive noise, "No, of course not, why would I do such a thing?" the eyebrows judge him and Stiles slumps. "Yes, yes, I did, and I am so sorry."

“Are you apologizing for getting me arrested or for speaking in third person?” Derek crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at Stiles with a look that has Stiles curling in on himself a bit.

“Definitely both. Look, I now we’ve already said and done shit to each other that is pretty bad. But can we start over? We’re Pack and Pack shouldn’t fight one another, and I really am sorry for getting you arrested for murder.”

The older man sits there in silence for a while, letting the silence and anxiety chew at Stiles the same way it did when he was sitting in the holding cell of the police station. A part of him wants to say no, a small part of him wants to demand Peter take Stiles out of the Pack because this life is dangerous.

But mostly because he’s afraid what Stiles is going to think of him when she comes back and ruins him all over again.

He doesn’t want Stiles to see that small broken and desperate teenager he was years ago, jumping at the chance just to have someone hold and love him.

And now when he remembers those times, remembers the sickly sweet words Kate would whisper. The way she would laugh at him when he did something amusing to her.

It makes something twist and turn crooked inside of him, it makes Derek want to get in the Camaro and drive until he hits something. Derek doesn’t deserve this.

He doesn’t.

The only thing he deserves is to suffer again and again, because it’s his fault.

And if he apologizes, if he lets Stiles in the teenager is going to see every bent and twisted side of Derek. Stiles is going to laugh, he’s going to call him an idiot for believing her words, going to shake with laughter as he reminds Derek how stupid he was for falling in love with a hunter.

He doesn’t want to destroy Stiles, his wolf wants to hold him until Stiles doesn’t have the clinging smell of sadness and loneliness on him anymore.

But he’s terrified if he touches the boy he’ll go up in flames or one day Derek will wake up with Stiles’ blood on his hands.

He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t.

“Okay, we can start again. But never refer to yourself in third person again.”

Stiles grins at him, happy and bright and so goddamn innocent that it hurts Derek, and holds up a hand in sloppily scout sign.

"I promise I will never refer to myself in third person again," Stiles says almost solemnly despite his grin. "Scout's honour."

"You were a scout?" Derek snorts and gives Stiles a look.

"Hey! I was one of the best!" Stiles pouts as he protests. "Coach Finstock was my scout leader, he thought I was crazy but a good scout."

"Bobby Finstock was your scout leader?" Peter asks in disbelief as he takes his leather chair. "Well, that explains so much."

Stiles pouts at his Alpha as Derek gives a laugh.

"You should see my knot tying! I was the best at that," Stiles brags making Derek choke as Peter gives a leer.

"I'm sure it'll be very helpful in the future," Peter says suggestively, and snorts at the look of mild horror that crosses Stiles' face.

"Oh my god," Stiles flops back down beside Derek with a groan. "I did not think that through."

"I think that was obvious," Derek snorts, hesitating before running a hand over Stiles' buzzcut.

"I'm going to embarrass myself so much," Stiles groans into the couch, trying not to push back against the comforting touch of Derek's hand on his head.

"You don't have to feel embarrassed," Peter reassures Stiles. "We're Pack, you have nothing to be ashamed of with us."

Stiles turns his head to peek up at Derek in silent question, and Derek nods in agreement making Stiles grin slightly.

"Thanks," Stiles turns over, slightly mourning Derek's hand pulling away from his head, and asks hopefully, "Is there still cookies left?"

Derek sighs as he grabs two and hands one over to Stiles, finding it not as hard to share with Stiles as it had been sometimes to share with Laura growing up.

It had been easier with Cora, she would share everything with Derek without complaining or trying to horde the bigger share.

“You’re a menace,” Derek tells the teenager, who only looks up and flashes a smile at him before turning back to the books on the table.

Peter tsks and closes the book before Stiles can fully invest himself into what he’s reading, ignoring the sound of protest Stiles makes when he does so.

“It’s almost ten at night, Stiles. We still have to go shopping for new clothes tomorrow,” Peter says, “Now, finish your cookie and it’s off to bed with the both of you.”

Derek looked up at that, looking like an angry child being told to go to time out from their parent.

“Why do I have to go to bed? I’m an adult,” Derek huffs, his arms coming up to cross in front of his chest.

“Because I said so, and you look like you haven’t a good night’s sleep since you started holding up in the burnt out Hale house,” Peter tells him plainly, “Both of you need some sleep, and if I have to force you to do so I will.”

“Man, you’re kind of scary when you act like a parent,” Stiles says, wiping his hands on his sleep pants before getting up to go to bed, only to pause when he remembers something, “Um, is there anything Pack related we need to do before sleeping?”

“Yes, we must all go out into the woods and hunt down three deer before commencing an orgy under the full moon,” Peter says with a blank face.

“What!” Stiles’ whole face goes red.

“Kidding,” Peter cackles.

“Oh my god! You actually had me! Asshole.” Stiles hits Peter’s chest, and then pulls his hand back because ouch.

"What is your chest made out of?" Stiles asks as he holds his hand. "Stone?"

"It's called muscle," Peter informs him with a smirk. "You may have heard about it."

"Ha," Stiles says dryly turning to head to the bedroom before looking back with a slight frown. "Does this mean we're sleeping together?"

"Yes," Peter says with some delight as Derek freezes from his turn towards his old bedroom. "Pack bonding, puppy-piles help strengthen the bonds."

"Huh," Stiles nods thoughtfully and in some understanding before turning to Derek. "Hope you don't mind me using your chest as a pillow again, it's surprisingly comfy despite being pure muscle."

"It's fine," Derek says gruffly, turning his face away in attempt to hide his blush, but the tips of his ears give him away like always, Peter notes.

"Cool," Stiles nods before getting a wicked grin on his face. "Last one there is a sourwolf!"

"Wha?" Derek snaps his head to Stiles, but the younger teenager had already began running to the bedroom with a cackle. "That's cheating!"

Derek races after Stiles and the younger man squeals when Derek picks him up easily and throws him over his shoulder before dumping him on the bed.

Stiles lands, laughing, as he looks up at Derek, and Derek can't stop the slight grin twist his lips as he's overwhelmed with the scent of happiness and the sound of Stiles' free laughter.

Stiles tugs Derek down, and the older man lands over him with an 'oof', caging Stiles in with his body, and Stiles' laughter drains away slowly as he stares up at Derek with wide eyes.

He needs to move, Derek knows, he needs to move now as Stiles' eyes drop to his lips and his tongue comes out to wet his own, and Derek's head moves almost without his permission as he sways closer to Stiles.

Derek's eyes flutter as he inhales, the happiness becomes heady with the beginning of arousal, and Derek sways almost drunkenly closer to Stiles as the younger teen tilts his face up, his lips shiny and begging to be kissed.

“Already getting comfortable, I see.”

Derek pulls back at his uncle’s words, rolling off of Stiles’ smaller frame so he can settle at his side.

Stiles has the smallest bite of disappointment in his scent which throws Derek off, but neither of them say anything as Peter shifts into his Alpha form.

Stiles marvels at the gross transformation before him, muscles and bones snapping and shifting, fur growing and his shape changing. Peter huffs and shakes himself off before getting on the bed.

He snuffles and moves Stiles and Derek around on the bed until he’s satisfied and settles around them. Stiles snorts as Peter reminds him of a dog circling around on their bed until they flop down to sleep.

He turns to look at Derek who has his eyes closed but isn’t yet sleeping, “Can you turn into a wolf? Or is that another Twilight thing?”

“No. I don’t think so, my mom was never clear on how it worked,” Derek answered, his eyebrows scrunching when the air is filled with a sour note from Peter.

“Your mother wasn’t clear on a lot of things,” he hears Peter growl.


The older wolf turns his head away, “It’s nothing, pup. We’ll talk another time.”

Stiles looks back and forth at both of the Hale’s before giving up on figuring out what the Hale’s are saying in their telepathic eyebrow speech.

He turns over onto his side and presses his face against Derek’s chest, hoping the older man doesn’t throw him off for being too close or too cuddly. But Derek only moves his arm so he can wrap it around Stiles’ body and pull him close.

Stiles smiles slightly as he closes his eyes and throws an arm over Derek's middle and tangles his fingers in Peter's fur.

Derek rests his chin on Stiles' head and keeps his eyes closed, trying to resist the urge to tighten his grip on Stiles, to pull him closer and rub his scent all over the younger teen until he smells like StilesandDerek, and instead leans back against Peter.

Peter noses gently at Derek's hair before dropping his head onto one of the pillows as he closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of Pack, of his pup and Betas, and gives a rumble of contentment as Stiles' breathing is the first to even and deepen in sleep, and Derek is quick to follow.

Peter dozes somewhat, keeping an ear out just in case the Argent's attempted to storm his apartment when his Pack has their defences down, but finally allows himself to drift properly into sleep when the clock strikes twelve.

“Peter, I seriously think we have enough clothes for me to last the rest of the year,” Stiles complains, following the older man into another store.

Peter pauses and looks back at Stiles who’s wearing a baggy pair of jeans that slip down his legs, because apparently teenagers this day and age have forgotten the existence of belts, and a graphic t-shirt that has some silly joke on it.

“We only have four shirts and two new jeans. I promise you it’s not enough,” Peter tells him, walking into the next store to see if he can find some button ups for Stiles.

Every man needs some nice button up shirts and long sleeves that don’t slip down their body.

He blatantly ignores the huff Stiles makes as he follows Peter with his arms crossed over his chest, wishing he had his flannel shirt to cover up his arms, but Peter had tried to throw it out when he caught sight of it.

Derek had been promoted to bag carrying lobby boy, not that the man seemed to care as he silently followed beside them, keeping in pace with Stiles until their shoulders brushed up against one another.

“I think it’s Derek’s turn to get new clothes,” Stiles tries for change the spotlight and gets a glare from the older man.

“I’m old enough to get my own clothes. I don’t need any help,” Derek grumbles, glancing down at a black short-sleeve that looks about Stiles’ size. He picks it up and hands it to the teenager, “Here try this on.”

Stiles wants to argue, he really does. But then Derek is raising an eyebrow at him and he’s weak when it comes to arguing with Derek’s superior eyebrows.

“Fine, but only because you’re not as demanding as Peter,” Stiles huffs and takes the item of clothing.

Derek sits on the couch that is settled by the fitting room area, Peter taking a seat next to him and glancing down at his phone as they both wait for Stiles to finish up.

"He is right in one regard," Peter says casually to Derek making the younger man glance at him. "You do need some new clothes, clothes that aren't too tight."

"My clothes are fine," Derek tells him, ignoring the look Peter shoots him. "They look good on me."

"While that is a goal when it comes to clothes," Peter begins as he watches Derek's stiff frame. "The real goal is to find clothes that fit you, are comfortable and stylish while making you look and feel good."

"My clothes are fine," Derek repeats more gruffly, and Peter makes an unconvinced noise, and Derek looks ready to argue when Stiles leaves the fitting room and awkwardly pulling at the short-sleeves.

"Well?" Stiles asks as he holds his arms out. "How stupid do I look?"

"You look fine," Peter says as he stands and moves to circle Stiles, adjusting the shirt slightly. "It suits you, and everyone need a little black in their wardrobe."

"Really?" Stiles asks doubtfully as he turns to mirror at the end of the hall. "Doesn't it make me look washed out?"

Peter snorts as he fixes the collar and unbuttons the top button—honestly, was he attempting to strangle himself?

"You aren't that pale, Stiles," Peter informs him as he steps back and nods, the jeans will need to go or at least paired with a proper belt. "It actually enhances the slight tan you have."

"Well, you know, lacrosse isn't just about me sucking and getting my ass kicked," Stiles says dryly as he turns back to the mirror. "I also get time to work on my tan."

"Short-sleeves suit you," Peter informs Stiles as he touches one of Stiles' arms. "It shows off the muscle you actually have."

"I thought I was a tooth-pick or looked half-starved," Stiles reminds him dryly, and Peter rolls his eyes and flicks his forehead. "Hey! Stop hurting the—"

Derek smirks as Stiles cuts himself off with a glance in his direction.

"And you do look like that when you wear things two sizes too big," Peter tells Stiles as Stiles rubs his forehead.

Stiles glances at Derek, “Your uncle is bullying me.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Derek turns his head the other way, smirking when Stiles squawks in indignation.

“Rude! You’re not invited to my next birthday,” Stiles says.

“Good, I don’t think I could handle being at a Star Wars themed birthday party,” Derek smirks when Stiles huffs.

“Actually, it was gonna be Batman themed.”


The three men whip their heads around to stare at Allison as she walks closer to them, her dimple smile almost blinding in the room.

Hey, Allison,” Stiles scratches are the back of his neck, suddenly feeling like the air is being sucked out of the room as she comes over and hugs him. “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping with my dad, I needed to get some new clothes for the semester. And also Lydia keeps inviting me and Scott to parties,” she tilts her head to the side, “Were you not coming to the one tonight? I told Scott to invite you.”

"It must have slipped his mind," Stiles smiles awkwardly as he says the words in a falsely light tone. "You know Scott."

Not a single one of Scott's texts mentioned any party, Stiles knew it without having to look at them again. Yesterday had been the most texts he sent in a while, and Stiles knew he only texted because it was Peter Hale had supposedly kidnapped him.

Allison frowns slightly before another blinding dimple smile curls her lips and reminds Stiles of why he thinks she could be a Disney Princess, "Well, then it's a good thing I ran into you and can invite you myself."

Stiles doesn't even have to look at his werewolves to know neither were happy about the idea of Stiles going to a party, especially not with after being invited by Allison Argent.

"I'd love to, but school's tomorrow and Dad wouldn't be impressed," Stiles shrugs his shoulders and gives her a conspiring look. "You know how Dads are like."

Allison rolls her eyes as she nods in agreement, "Dad wants me to text him every hour and to be back before ten."

"Which is very reasonable," Mr Argent says calmly as he strides up, his cool blue-eyes taking in Stiles briefly before flickering over and focusing on Peter. "It's dangerous after all, considering there's a dangerous animal about."

"Funny," Peter moves and presses a hand lightly to Stiles' back. "I heard the Sheriff's Department is sure they have things under control."

"Really?" Mr Argent arches one brow, his gaze more fixed on the unburned side of Peter's face. "Somehow I'm not sure about that."

"You should get your facts straight before sprouting old-dated information," Peter says lightly.

Allison gives Stiles a slightly embarrassed look and Stiles gives her a small smile in reply.

"So," Mr Argent's gaze moves to Stiles, the blue a shade lighter than Peter's and much colder than the warm eyes Peter always turns to him. "Who's this?"

"This is Stiles," Allison introduces with a smile. "My friend from school."

“A school friend, huh. And what are you doing with an ex-coma patient, Stiles?” Chris asks, his voice going steely tight.

Stiles knows this is a trap, the man is trying to pull something out him to see where Stiles lands on his list of enemies. So Stiles does the one thing he’s good at.

He talks.

Stiles starts with a shrug, “The Hale’s are actually kind of a family friend, my mom was close with Peter before I was born, and he use to come over to babysit me when it was date night. And after my mom died it was really hard on me and Peter both because we loved her, Peter was there when my dad got too busy with work.

“You know how it is, your wife dies from an incurable disease. You’ve got a kid with a motormouth and ADHD, work full time as a Sheriff and you have an alcoholic problem. Peter was there to help around the house when he could but then...the fire happened.”

Stiles turns his head to glance at Peter’s face, the side that still is covered in scars from the fire, “It was really hard on me because Peter was the only other person who knew my mom like I did. And then he was gone, so I didn’t know what to do. I ended up reading to him while he was in there until my dad came to pick me up, and when I heard he woke up you know I just had to hang out with my favorite Hale.”

Allison nods her head, “I didn’t know about your mom.”

Stiles waves her off, even though there’s a twinge ff pain in his chest, “It’s all in the past. Sometimes it still hurts to think about her or remember the time we had together, but she’s still there in our hearts.”

“Claudia was a very lovely woman, and a spitfire too.” Peter smiles, a real smile unlike the one he’d giving to the Argents earlier that was full of teeth.

There's a tightening to Mr Argent's face at almost completely truthful story while Allison looks sympathetic, touched by the story.

"You must have been so happy that he finally woke up," Allison says softly, kindly, and totally not what Stiles would expect from someone coming from the family she does.

"You have no idea," Stiles gives her a smile, and not just for the reasons you'd guess, he adds mentally.

"And you just happen to also be spending time with a man you recently accused on murder," Mr Argent adds making Allison give him a look.

"Dad," Allison glances at Derek, mildly horrified by her dad's words and tone.

"A misunderstanding that he has thankfully forgiven me for," Stiles informs Mr Argent. "I just got so carried away, trying to help out my dad, you know? And I forgot it was a real case, with real people, and that a mistake could have ruined Derek's life. I'm very grateful that he decided to forgive me for my part in his false imprisonment, and I feel completely awful now knowing it was his sister. I can't imagine how he must have felt when he found her like that."

Mr Argent doesn't even wince at the not very subtle hint to the state the Argent's must have left Laura in, but something in his gaze does flicker as he looks at Peter.

"I heard," Allison grimaces as she covers her mouth, eyes flicking sympathetically towards Derek, and she takes a step closer to him making Mr Argent tense and shift like he's about to pull her back. "I really hope they find the person responsible for what happened to your sister."

"Thank you," Derek says stiffly, looking like he didn't know what to do with a kind and sincere Argent.

"Yes," Peter says smoothly as he stares at Chris. "We all hope to find the person responsible for leaving my niece in such a state."

Chris frowns at those words and the way Peter is looking at him. Did Peter forget about their time together? Forgot about the way he stole Chris’s heart?

Peter doesn’t look at him the same way he used to, he looks like a ghost. A wraith. An angry, vengeful man who has scars on his right side that would make people flinch if they mentioned them. He’s not the same man Chris had remembered before when they were happy, and things were better.

“Yes, I hope they gets found as well,” Chris adds, “Come on, Allison. I think your mother should be finished with lunch by now.”

If Peter flinches or makes a face at those words Chris doesn’t see it because the man is so well practiced in hiding his face.

“Aw, can’t I hang out with Stiles a little more? I never get to see him at school,” Allison frowns, obviously not noticing the tension in the air.

Stiles smiles at her, “It’s cool, Ally. Here lemme get your number and we can text each other to hang out, and maybe next time I won’t get dragged around as a third wheel.”

She flushed at that, “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry about that last time. I really didn’t mean to leave you alone at lunch.”

She pulls out her phone and let’s Stiles punch in his phone number.

“It’s all cool. You’re still new here and already in the popular crowd, who wants to hang out with a looser like me,” Stiles shrugs off the words easily, already use to people brushing him off.

“Stiles! You’re not a looser. Besides, I actually prefer hanging out with the nerds than the cool people. Sometimes it feels like I’m talking to Barbie dolls at that table, when all I want to do is talk about is Batgirl.”

“New 52?”

The worst.”

“Oh my god, sorry Scotty but I am stealing your girl and we are going to do nerdy things. Wait—have you seen Star Wars?”

Allison rolls her eyes, “Uh, of course! A New Hope is the best one!”

Stiles does a fist bump at that, ignoring the fact that the Peter and Chris have been sending each other death glares over the two teens heads.

"Finally!" Stiles almost cheers. "Someone understands me. Do you know that Scott hasn't seen a single Star Wars movie?"

Allison's jaw drops and she looks as horrified as Stiles often does, "No!"

"Yes!" Stiles nods his head before shaking his head in pity. "Do you know how many references just fly by his head like it's nothing?"

"We need a Star Wars movie marathon," Allison decides firmly, and Stiles nods.

"Perhaps he'll finally watch them if you suggest it," Stiles says, knowing it's true.

Seven years he's been trying to get Scott to watch one, just one movie to get some of the references Stiles makes, and Scot had always refused. But if Allison asked? Scott wouldn't even think twice.

"You really think so?" Allison asks with a furrow between her brows. "But you're his best friends."

"If he hasn't watched them with me once in seven years, then he'll never do it for me," Stiles informs her, and Allison's frown deepens as Stiles hands her back her phone.

"You've been trying for seven years?" Allison asks in disbelief. "And he hasn't once one?"

"Not his thing apparently," Stiles says while trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone, and Allison shakes her head.

"Allison," Mr Argent touches her shoulder. "Come on, you know your mother will be wondering where we are soon."

"Fine," Allison sighs deeply before turning to look at Stiles. "We'll talk more tomorrow?"

"Sure, sounds fun," Stiles smiles back. "Or you could text me later and we can bitch about the worse moments of Star Wars?"

Allison smiles, that blinding dimple smile, and nods eagerly, "Sounds fun, really wish you were going to the party tonight now."

"Yeah, well, Dads," Stiles shrugs his shoulders, and Allison nods in agreement.

"Allison," Mr Argent says with some frustration, and Allison rolls her eyes.

"Bye Stiles, it was nice seeing you," Allison then looks at Derek and then Peter. "And it was very nice meeting you, Mr Hale, and meeting you properly, Derek."

“You’re not seriously going to play nice with that girl, are you?” Peter says when the Argent’s are out of ear range.

“I don’t think she’s aware of what her family does when things go bump at night,” Stiles answers before turning around to face his Alpha, “You and Chris on the other hand seem to have some background, feel like sharing with the class?”

Peter flashes red-eyes at Stiles.

His wolf snarls at his Beta’s words, wants to grab Stiles by the throat and make him submit because how dare he speak to the Alpha like that. If he even knew what he was doing—challenging the Alpha’s authority like that.

“Peter,” Derek breaks through the fury burning inside of him, and the older man takes a step back.

“We’ll discuss this when I feel like we’re safe. I need to check on somethings first, but...yes...there are somethings we all need to talk about,” Peter tells them cryptically, before turning around and walking away which ends the conversation.

“Your uncle is weird. And sometimes scary. But for some reason I still want to hug him, and ask for homemade cookies,” Stiles tells Derek, before turning to change back into his regular clothes.

Derek sits there in silence, letting Stiles’ words wash over him. Because he understands that feeling with Peter as well.

Being around Peter makes him remember his mom, but with something that feels akin to real unlike what he had with Talia. She was cold and harsh, where Peter was warm and had open arms and soft words. He always gave Derek the best presents when he could, save the best sweets for him and only made Derek’s lunch.

Peter was usually stoic with the girls but when it came to Derek he happily shared his books and knowledge with the boy which had Derek scratching his head.

When he scented Peter, he always smelled like warm baked cookies, the Preserve and just the feeling of home, now with that added scent of Alpha.

It was like the same with Stiles; the boy smelt like home but also with the scent of lightning before it hits the ground and cinnamon. Both of which had Derek wanting to roll around in the boy’s scent, but always stopping before he did so.

"So, what now?" Stiles asks as he comes out with the black shirt, and Derek stands and collects the bags before grabbing the shirt. "Derek!"

"We buy this," Derek tells him as he heads to pay. "Then we'll see if Peter's found anything else for you to try or if he wants to go in another store."

"Seriously, neither of you have to do this," Stiles quickens his stride so he's next to Derek. "My clothes were fine."

Derek snorts, and Stiles glares at him, "Hey! Take the judgement down like ten notches."

"Your clothes made you look like you should still be in middle-school," Derek informs him dryly as they line up to be served, and Stiles pouts at him.

"You're one to talk, Mr I-wear-things-two-sizes-too-small," Stiles says, and Derek gives him a look. "Okay, it was a mouthful, but my point still stands."

"My clothes make me look good," Derek says as he glances around, wrinkling his nose as he notices the glances lust and interest being sent his way. "Your clothes hide everything that could make you look good."

"Maybe I wear things like that because I don't have anything to show off," Stiles says with something snappish in his tone, his scent souring with embarrassment and self-consciousness. "I know what I look like, okay Derek? And there's nothing worth showing off."

Derek looks at him in disbelief and some anger.

Who the fuck told Stiles this bullshit?

“There is nothing wrong with the way you look. And if anyone tells you otherwise I’ll rip their throats out with my teeth.”

He flashes his blue-eyes to make a point, ignoring the way Stiles’ cheeks go a little red.

“Oh—uh. Um, sure. Okay then,” Stiles agrees, feeling his tongue getting tied up with itself and his whole body turning red.

Smirking that he’s gotten the point through Stiles’ head, Derek walks them to where Peter is at the food court buying some ice cream.

Derek’s nose scrunches a little when he smells the heavy scent of grease in the air and the sticky smell of unwashed bathrooms.

“I got ice cream as an apology for snapping at you earlier,” Peter says as he comes back to where they’re standing, and hands over the Blizzard to Stiles. “I believe these are still pretty popular unless I’m really out of touch with things today. And Derek I got you your favorite, at least I hope it still is.”

Derek looks at the mint chocolate chip blizzard and takes it gingerly, giving Peter a small smile in thanks.

Stiles glances at Derek’s ice cream before digging into his own. Glad that Stiles isn’t going to make fun of him for his ice cream choice, Derek digs into his own and hums are the cool flavor on his tongue.

Peter sits across from them both with his own ice cream that’s a small cup of rocky road.

He may seemed relax but he’s constantly glancing around and checking their surrounding in case something happens.

It’s both because he’s the Alpha and from the trauma of the fire that has him always set on edge whenever he leaves the house, his den. His place of safety.

But seeing his Beta’s happily enjoying their ice cream and bickering at one another helps to settle his wolf.

"I have enough clothes now, right?" Stiles asks as he scoops up some of his ice-cream, and Peter gives him a pitying look.

"My dear boy," Peter sighs with a shake of his head. "It pains me that you ask this again. You only have one button-up shirt, no long-sleeve button-ups, and only two pairs of jeans. We still have a lot more shopping ahead of us, after we've dealt with the clothes, we still need to look at the accessories and shoes."

"Accessories?" Stiles almost gapes. "But I'm not a girl."

Peter tsks, "You don't need to be a girl to know the importance of a good accessory, and belts are included in accessories which you are deeply in need of."

"I don't need a belt," Stiles protests, and Peter points at him with his spoon.

"I could yank your jeans off now without even using more than a tenth of my strength," Peter informs him and Derek snorts.

"You can't," Stiles continues to protest, and Peter gives him a look.

"Shall we try to see who is right?" Peter asks, and Stiles almost bites his tongue with how fast he snaps his mouth shut. "Yes, I thought that would be your answer. "

Peter leans back in his chair with some satisfaction as Stiles almost grumpily eats his ice-cream.

"How's this? You don't complain throughout the rest of the clothes shopping and we can go to the book store and look at the comics," Peter offers, and Stiles squints his eyes at Peter.

"You're trying to bribe me," Stiles accuses him, and Peter smirks.

"Is it working?" Peter questions, and Stiles pouts.

"Yes," Stiles says grudgingly making Derek snort as he eats his ice-cream. "Fine, I'll take your bribe."

"Excellent," Peter says smugly, radiating like a smug and satisfied cat.

They finish up another few hours of Stiles having to shop for clothes—much to his hatred, although that’s a little bit of a lie. He never knew shopping could actually be fulfilling when you had someone who knew a thing or two about fashion. However, Stiles would never give Peter the satisfaction of hearing that statement out of his mouth.

They spend another hour in the comic store where Stiles shows Derek some of his favorite comics while also feeling embarrassed a little when the man stands there looking like a gargoyle.

But when he makes a comment or two about Wonder Woman, Derek breaks and the two of them start discussing comics which makes Stiles giddy to have someone to talk to.

“Is it bad, I kind of don’t want to go home?” Stiles says in the back seat of Peter’s car as they leave the mall.

Peter hums and lowers the radios volume, “It’s part of being in a closely knit pack, you’re always going to want to be around your Alpha and Pack mates. But there’s no need to worry, I already spoke with your father and you can spend the night again. Granted we’ll need to swing by your place so you can grab a few things.”

“Oh okay, awesome. Cause I really don’t want to have to brush my teeth with my fingers again, that was weird,” Stiles grins, pulling out his phone to reply back to the messages Allison sent him earlier when he sent her back pictures of his new outfits.

It was easy to drive to Stiles' house, Noah hadn't moved from the house he bought with Claudia all those years ago, and Peter thinks he could drive there blind-folded.

Peter frowns when he pulls up and there's no cruiser in the driveway, and he can't hear any signs of someone being in the house.

Stiles didn't seem to expect Noah to be home, and just hopped out of car while rummaging for his keys, and Peter and Derek follow him.

It almost startles Peter how little it had changed since Claudia's death. The pictures of Stiles on the mantle had been replaced as he aged, but otherwise? It's just like before, apart from the fake mounted fish on the wall—that was definitely new.

"I'll be right back," Stiles says as he almost races up the stairs, tripping and then continuing on all fours making Derek snort as he looks around with an awkwardness that suggests he's not used to being in a family home anymore.

It makes Peter's heart clench, makes him wonder how things were when it was just Derek and Laura.

"Is this you?" Derek's voice breaks him from his thoughts, and he looks up to see Derek looking at one of the photographs on the mantle, and Peter comes closer and smiles as he sees the photo.

It's a bit faded due to sun and age, but it still showed both Claudia and Peter as teenagers and wearing matching sunflower skirts. Claudia holding her skirt up and out to show off the pattern while Peter tried to look very serious with his leather jacket despite sunny yellow sunflower skirt Claudia had conned him into.

Peter snorts, "Of course she'd put this on the mantle."

"You're wearing a skirt," there's a hint of disbelieving laughter in Derek's voice, and Peter puts on an offended look on his face.

"I think I pulled it off quite well," Peter says in a picture of offended dignity.

"You're wearing a leather jacket and combat boots," Derek points out with something akin to a snicker.

"And yet I look a delight," Peter insists with a sniff before glancing at Derek. "Besides, you love my jacket."

Derek rubs the cuffs of the leather jacket he's wearing, Peter's jacket, the jacket that Peter gave him when he entered High school.

“It’s a nice jacket. And you were always the coolest uncle,” Derek smiles at him, his smile is so wide it shows off his bunny teeth.



Right, the cool uncle.

Peter frowns at the title, he needs to tell Derek the truth and he needs to tell him it fast before things get out of hand and someone else tells him it.

He’s almost tempted to tell him now, lay out the truth but then he hears Stiles fumbling around upstairs and decides it can wait one more day.

And he just hopes Derek won’t hate him afterwards.

Derek picks up another photo of him and Claudia to smile down at it, and then looks at the others.

“You were very grouchy as a teenager,” Derek surmises.

“Hm, yes. I had a lot to be grouchy about, and dramatic,” Peter hides the pain behind a smile and then turns away to study them rest of the Stilinski household, waiting for Stiles to come back down before driving back to the den.

Suddenly it's so much harder to be in this house with Derek right next to him, and suddenly the memories aren't happy.

That blanket tossed casually over the couch is the same blanket Noah had thrown over him and Claudia that night, when he had arrived on their doorstep haunted and hurting, and after Claudia had shut them in a room so he could shake and sob in her arms as he stuttered his way through what happened, and she stayed up with him all night, running her fingers through his hair as they watched crappy old movies.

Those kitchen cabinets were in the middle of being painted that shade of blue when Peter found out, and Claudia promised to help him.

There's the chair Claudia sat him in while she made tea to soothe his stomach after morning-sickness hit hard, and she'd sit next to him and stroke his back as he forced himself to swallow each mouthful of tea.

There's the door to the back-garden where they had sat and Peter told her Talia had made it impossible to say what happened, that it felt like someone's strangling him whenever he does.

There's the front door where Talia had stood and Alpha-ordered him home and back to where Robert was, where he could do what he wanted to Peter and Peter couldn't fight back, couldn't risk his pup.

There's where he collapsed after finally being released from Eichen House and after seeing his pup call Talia "Mama" and the victorious smile Talia had flashed him as she smelled his heart-break and agony, and he had rushed to Claudia and her comforting arms.

There's where he sat as he drunkenly mourned the loss of Chris and whatever relationship they had, and where Claudia promised to hex Victoria if the bitch ever stepped foot in Beacon Hills.

“If anyone needs me, I’ll be out in the car,” Peter says as he starts to leave only to pause when he sees a blanket fallen behind the couch.

Hands trembling, he picks it up and stares down the familiar fabric, something he hasn’t seen  since after Derek’s birth, the little blue blanket he was making for his baby boy.

He turns it around and chokes back a son when he sees the finished embroidery on the inside with Derek’s initials.

D.H. And there’s even a little red heart after it.

He hears Derek call his name but just shakes his head and leaves the house before things get worse, taking the blanket with him because it was his after all.

Not that he ever got to give it to Derek, not that he ever got to swaddle his pup in the soft fabric he took the time to pick out and sewn together.

He’ll never get those years back, never watch his son grow up and take his first step, say his first words and loose his first teeth.

The emotions swell inside of Peter like a roaring flame, and it’s like he’s breaking at the seams.

Just one more thing. One more fucking thing to remind him of the shit he’s been through and how he’ll never get that happiness back and he’s going to fucking shatter.

He leans against the car, bringing the blanket to his nose, and despite knowing there would be no scent of Derek on there, he still inhales.

There's no scent of Derek, but faintly there's something that reminds him of Claudia and there's Stiles.

He remembers being twenty, he remembers the loneliness and the pain, he remembers Talia's poisonous hisses whenever Peter tried to be close to his son, he remembers drinking and he remembers the blank periods in his memory that he's still not sure if it's due to his drinking or if Talia took something else from him, and he remembers going to the hospital.

He remembers Claudia smiling at him, remembers how easily she had held out her baby for him, how she let Peter hold her precious baby despite him being a drunk and Noah having to arrest him a few times.

He remembers the slight weight of the fragile body in his arms, remembers the unique baby smell, and he remembers rubbing his cheek against Stiles' little head like he had longed to do to Derek.

He remembers marvelling over Stiles' tiny hands when he wrapped one whole fist around Peter's little finger, remembers Claudia always trusting him with her son whenever he came around and always willing to let him be a part of Stiles' life in a way he couldn't be with his own pup.

And it hurt, but he had been so thankful for Claudia trusting in him, believing in him, and Stiles—Mieczyslaw, Mischief—had always been delighted to see him.

It hadn't fixed anything, hadn't filled the hole in his heart that cried out for his pup, but it let him focus on something else, let him pretend for a little while that things weren't so dire, that he didn't have to sneak around and hide to spend time with his pup, that he didn't have to stand back and watch Talia claim his place, and he still didn't shudder and feel sick when he felt Robert's eyes on him, watching him, and pretending to be the doting husband to Talia, the dutiful father.


Peter Hale is a born Alpha werewolf. He’s an apex predator. The thing that makes children scream when they see shadows at night and hear noises. The thing that hunters fear and chase after, and causes their demise.

But when he hears that voice, he runs.

He flinched away at first, and then unlocks the door to his car before slipping inside and slamming it shut.

Locking the doors shut and putting the music as high as he can go without making him want to bash his head into the wheel. Chris calls his name again and Peter shakes his head and tries to curl in on himself.

“Fuck off!” Peter tries to roar but it sounds so fucking pathetic even to himself.

“Peter?!” Chris tries to get the man’s attention.

“I think you should step away from the car,” Stiles snarls as he comes running to the car.

Stiles really wishes he had brought his bat with him, that would definitely make an impression, but well, he had been short on time.

There had been Derek in his living room quietly freaking out because something happened made Peter leave and then it was only happenstance that Stiles glanced out and saw Mr Argent arriving and he saw Peter freak, and then Stiles moved and here is he, all one-hundred-and-forty-seven pounds of him, heading start to a trained and deadly hunter.

Mr Argent steps away from the car and turns so he can still look at Peter while watching Stiles with his hands raised in a gesture of surrender that Stiles immediately distrusts—mostly because he figures it's best to distrust everyone with the last name Argent that isn't paired with the first name Allison.

"Stiles," Mr Argent tries, all calm and reasonable, and Stiles really wishes for his bat.

"No," Stiles snarls, wishing the bite had taken and he could really put some growl and teeth in it. "Back away from the car and leave."

"I just want to talk," Mr Argent looks towards to car, towards Peter. "I just want to talk, Peter."

"Too bad," Stiles grits his teeth as he comes to a stop near the car. "It's very obvious that Peter doesn't want to talk to you, so back off and go away."

"Stiles," Mr Argent begins almost sternly as he looks at him, which is great as long as he's staring at Stiles, he isn't looking at Peter and making whatever panic the Alpha is feeling worse. "I don't know how much you know—"

"I know enough," Stiles cuts off as he steps closer, squaring upon the older and more dangerous man. "I know enough to know that your family have done enough to mine."

"You're claiming the Hale's as family?" Mr Argent questions, a flicker of surprise in his cool blue-eyes, and Stiles leans forward.

"I'm claiming them as Pack," Stiles says firmly, clearly, and Mr Argent straightens as he looks at Stiles, and Stiles can see him reassessing him, calculating him as a threat.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Don’t be stupid. I’m not a wolf, Argent. Now back away from my Alpha or I’m going to make sure your face gets friendly with the concrete.”

Argent looks this teenager up and down before taking a step back and nods his head.

“I apologize for stepping over boundaries, I really only meant to talk to him,” Chris says.

Derek gawks a little at how Stiles—Stiles a seventeen-year-old teenager—made a prolific hunter step back from him.

“If I ever catch you around my Alpha again, I will make sure you never see the light of day,” Stiles snarls, and he may not be a wolf, but his actions have Chris reaching for his gun.

Derek growls and runs over to stand in front of Stiles, pushing his pack mate behind him to protect him from the hunter.

“Were-were you just about to shoot a teenager?” Stiles says with disbelief in his voice.

Chris pulls his hand away, but the damage is done, and Stiles stares at him from around Derek.

"What the fuck is a matter with you?" Stiles demands as he stares at Argent. "I can't believe your first reaction to a verbal threat is to pull a gun on someone, especially when that someone is a teenager. A teenager that is the son of the local Sheriff and is a friend of your daughter."

A slight flinch as Chris steps back, further away from Stiles and Derek, and the car.

"Seriously, what the hell is a matter with you? Is this what being a Hunter is about? Pulling guns on innocent teenagers who say something you don't like?" Stiles continues as he holds one of Derek's arm as the taller man stands planted in front of him. "Shit, I knew you were must have been fucked up considering what your family does, but still."

There's disbelief and disgust in Stiles' expression as he stares flatly at Chris, and Chris almost winces because he can imagine that expression on Allison's face.


"Leave," Derek snarls, flashing blue-eyes briefly.

Chris stares at the werewolf and possible human in front of him, he gives a glance to Peter who’s sitting shocked still in his car like a statue.

Clenching his hands into fists, Chris nods and leaves to go back to his car so they can go their separate ways.

Huffing, Stiles watches without moving until he sees to car is turning down the street and then gives Derek a little tug on his arm before turning to the car where Peter is in.

Opening the car door, Stiles puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder and when the man doesn’t flinch or make a noise, Stiles gives a little tug and helps him out of the front seat of the car.

He moves Peter to the back seat, glancing down at where the man is clutching what looks like a baby blanket, but he doesn’t say anything about it. It could have been what possible triggered his panic attack.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice is full of worry and confusion and it hurts Stiles to hear it like that.

“It’s okay, big guy. I think, Peter just needs some rest right now,” Stiles tells him, “Could you sit in the back with him and make sure he stays calmed down while I drive us home?”

Nodding his head without argument, Derek gets into the backseat with his Uncle and lets the man curl up against his side.

Before he can get into the car, Stiles has to run back inside to grab the bag he dropped after spotting Mr. Argent earlier.

He glances around the room and pauses when he sees the photo of Peter and his mom when they were in high school. There’s an ache in his chest from the sight of his mother’s smile, he misses it dearly.

Setting it back down, he does a sweep of the room before deciding he has everything he needs and then leaves the house, making sure to lock it up before he walks to the car.

Getting into the front seat, Stiles takes a moment to appreciate the nice ride Peter has before starting up the car and leaving.

He keep glances up to the mirror to check on them, Derek giving this little whine in his throat as he rubs his cheek against Peter's hair as the older man lays against him, and it makes Stiles' heart clench as he drives to Peter's apartment building in the more pricier side of town.

Peter's apartment building has its own private and underground parking-lot which Stiles thankfully can access with a click of a button from the little clicker thing Peter kept on his dash, and he didn't have to press a button and talk to security—he didn't want to expose Peter to anyone else when he's like this, and it was bad enough that Mr Argent saw.

Stiles mentally grumbles angrily at the man—it involves waving a fist in his face, lots of curse words, and a vivid description of where Stiles would love to shove his bat—and pulls into the spot right next to where Peter had parked his jeep yesterday.

Stiles really can't believe how much his life has changed in one day, and all because he had the stupid and reckless decision to confront a werewolf he had been 98% sure was killing people.

"Right," Stiles says after turning of the car and turning in his seat to look at Derek. "I'll get the bags, you help Peter, and we try to avoid as many people as possible, okay?"

Derek nods with a tight jaw, holding Peter close, and Stiles nods as he pops the trunk and scrambles to get the bags—really wishing that Peter could have been convinced not to buy so much stuff while wearing his backpack—and Derek helps a still nonverbal or responding Peter out the car.

Stiles throws the older man the keys and closes the trunk before grabbing all the bags with both hands, some of the handles hanging from his forearms, and following as Derek hurries them towards the elevator that will take them to Peter's apartment—because the older man had the loft apartment, so the elevator had a special key to take them there.

It's something that really drives home how rich the Hale's are.

And how there was no real excuse why Derek had been living in the burnt ruins of his family home.

When they enter the apartment, Derek carries Peter to the older man’s room where he sets him on the bed.

Peter curls in on himself and it makes something inside of Derek’s chest clench at the sight of his uncle being so closed off, the man has always been so strong, and it makes him wonder what Argent could have said to him earlier.

Stiles moved all his bags to the guest room, so nothing clutters the living room.

Once that’s all settled he was into Peter’s room to find Derek stroking the older man’s hair and trying to calm him down.

Derek glances up at Stiles and then moves off the bed, “Could you watch over him while I make us some dinner?”

“Of course,” Stiles nods his head, and settles down next to Peter in the bed.

Derek hesitates for a moment at the door, before shaking off his jacket and dripping it over Stiles’ shoulders.

He doesn’t know why, but the sight of it on Stiles comforts him and makes his wolf relax enough for him to leave the room.

Looking at Derek’s receding figure and the jacket, Stiles pulls the collar up a little bit to inhale the scent for a moment.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when Peter speaks next to him.

“Claudia?” The man says her name like she’s a ghost, “Don’t—Don’t make them force me back please. I can’t—they took him, he doesn’t even know who I am. I don’t want to be there anymore, he hurts me.”

Stiles isn't meant to be hearing this, he knows this, this was for his mother, for Claudia.

"It's me, Peter, it's Stiles," Stiles swallows as he strokes Peter's long hair. "Shush, it's okay, it's okay."

"I don't want it, I don't," Peter continues like he didn't hear Stiles. "You know I don't, but Talia," Peter's breathing hitches, "she thinks it's my fault, that I'm asking for it."

Stiles is the son of a police officer, he is the son of the Sheriff, and he has more understanding on how cruel people could be to others, just how they could hurt someone in so many different ways, than most people his age.

Stiles has been sat down many times in his life for a 'talk' about such things, his dad serious and firm as he speaks about signs and what he should look out for.

So, Stiles knows with bone-deep certainty what Peter's talking about, what he's saying, and it makes him feel cold and sick, it makes him feel hot and angry, because he knows, he knows that someone, that someone had raped Peter, someone at the Hale House, a member of his so-called family, and he can piece together who considering Talia's been mentioned, that his own sister won't believe him.

"Peter," Stiles cups the man's jaw and spoke more firmly. "It's me, Stiles. It's okay, it's okay," he swallows thickly, lowering his voice and hoping that Derek isn't listening in, that he's too busy cooking to focus on what they are saying, "he's dead, Peter, he's dead and he can never hurt you or force you again."

Peter gives a sob as he reaches out to clutch at him, to pull him down and hug him as he sobs.

"He's dead," Stiles repeats as he strokes Peter's shuddering back. "He's dead and he won't be coming back, he'll never hurt you again."

Peter keens, it's a sound that's wounded and relieved, and it hurts to listen to, but Stiles just keeps stroking his back and making comforting sounds.

“You’re safe now. I promise, you’re safe,” Stiles presses his nose to the top of Peter’s head in a wolf like gesture. “You’re safe.”

It’s a while—a long while—until Peter slowly crawls his way out of that dark pit he was thrown into. The first thing he smells is Stiles and the mixed scent of Derek, but not as strong as if the man was in the room with him, the next he smells food cooking and his stomach growls with hunger from crying so much.

Opening his eyes, Peter stares up at where Stiles is gentle running fingers through his hair and calming him down.

“Welcome back, big bad,” Stiles teases him gently.

“Wh—I—“ he struggles to form the words even now.

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe. We brought you back to the apartment, Derek’s making us some food right now. And I think it should be done soon,” Stiles tells him.

Peter gives a little nod of his head and then curls up closer to him, his nose pressing against the leather of the jacket so he could inhale his pup’s scent.

He listens to the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat and Derek in the kitchen, making what smells like homemade spaghetti.

There’s the tapping of the wooden spoon against the pot and then Derek setting it down before coming back to the room.

Derek knocks on the door softly, not wanting to startle anyone as he announces, “Dinner should be done in a few minutes, and the table is already set.”

“Thanks, Derek,” Stiles smiles at the older man, which causes Derek to blush a little. “We’ll be out there in a minute.”

Nodding his head, Derek glances at his uncle before turning to leave back to the kitchen.

Stiles waits for Derek to leave before looking down at Peter.

"You ready for food? Or do you want to clean up first?" Stiles asks softly, deciding against saying anything about what Peter said earlier.

"I," Peter clears his throat slightly, "I think I'll clean myself up a bit. I will see you in the kitchen."

"Sure," Stiles nods as he stands with a stretch, and Peter sits up slowly.


Stiles looks back as Peter looks at him slightly unsure, "Yeah?"

"Did I," Peter pauses and licks his dry lips before continuing. "Did I say anything? When I was..."

"Nothing that can't wait until you're ready to tell me yourself," Stiles says firmly, and Peter nods as he looks down slightly before looking up.

"Thank you," Peter takes a deep breath, "I'll keep that in mind."

"Anytime," Stiles says before leaving him, letting Peter finish pulling himself together and heads into the kitchen.

Derek already dishing up the noodles, heaping them on the plates for him and Peter and frowning as he thinks how much to give Stiles.

"Maybe not as much as what you two are having," Stiles says as he touches Derek lightly on the arm. "I may not be a werewolf, but I am a teenage boy."

Derek snorts as he hands over the pot and a pasta-server, "You can dish your own up, I'll get the sauce and the bread."

"Garlic bread too?" Stiles says as Derek pulls it out of the oven. "Marry me."

Derek blushes, almost dropping the bread, and slamming the pan down on the counter as he turns sharply to Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t notice the werewolf’s reaction as he puts food on his plate and Derek has half a mind to punch a wall for how excited his wolf reacted.

Instead he finishes with pulling the garlic bread out and setting it on the table.

Peter joins them a moment later after he’s washed up and Stiles glances over at him, giving the man a soft smiling before digging into the warm dinner.

Relaxing, Peter eats his own dinner at a slower pace while Derek wolf’s his food down.

“So, I may or may not have popped the bubble that I was in the Pack to Argent. So me pretending to be stupid about all of this kind of went out the window,” Stiles tells Peter, trying to lighten the mood a little bit.

Peter takes in this information slowly before saying, “It’s okay, it would have come out sooner or later. I don’t believe Chris would give the information out though, he was a firm believer in never hurting teenage werewolves.” The man pauses for a moment, “At least, I still hope he is.”

“If he threatens you again, I’ll kill him,” Derek growls.

“Now, now, puppy. If anyone’s doing the maiming it’s going to be me,” Peter grins and flashes red-eyes.

"Or you know, we could keep the maiming down?" Stiles suggests making the two werewolves give him twin looks. "Or not. Look, I don't think he's going to threaten me like that again, I think I just startled him."

"He almost pulled a gun on you," Derek argues with a growl.

"Yeah," Stiles shakes his head in disbelief. "And I don't even have anything to flash to make me look threatening."

"He almost pulled a gun?" Peter says with disbelief, almost dropping his fork.

"Yeah," Stiles frowns slightly. "He seemed a bit off? Like spooked? Or maybe nervous? Well, he didn't react to my threat well."

"Perhaps it would be a good idea not to threaten an armed Hunter," Peter says lightly as Stiles twirls his noodles around his fork.

"I didn't know he was armed!" Stiles protests before stuffing his fork in his mouth.

"He's a Hunter, they're always armed," Derek says darkly as he mops up some of his sauce with his bread.

"Derek is right about that," Peter agrees as he remembers the amount of weaponry he had to remove from Chris' body in the past before they could have sex. "Never think a Hunter is unarmed, it could be the last mistake you ever make."

"I don't think he's going to do it again," Stiles says thoughtfully after swallowing. "I think I spooked him after reminding him I'm both the Sheriff's son and his daughter's friend."

Derek grunts, unconvinced.

"Perhaps you were right," Peter says with a hint of a grimace. "Perhaps being friends with his daughter is a good thing."

“Gosh, you don’t have to say it like I’m pulling your teeth,” Stiles grins at the sour look on Peter’s face.

The Alpha gives him a look and Stiles ducks back in his seat, smirking down at his plate while the two wolves finish their dinner with grumbling moods.

Stiles moans when he takes a bite out of the freshly baked garlic bread, and Derek’s cheeks go red from the noise. He ducks his head not wanting Stiles to see his flushed face, and glares when he realizes Peter can probably smell the scent of his blush.

“Children,” Peter huffs under his breath.

When they finish the food, Stiles does the dishes for the night and puts up the leftovers before joining Peter and Derek in the living room.

Derek is sitting on the couch end with a book already while Peter is in the leather chair.

Picking up the book he was close to finishing, Stiles takes a seat on the couch by Derek, hoping the man won’t push him away.

Derek glances over at the teenager, and then at Peter who doesn’t seem to have noticed anything going on. Giving in to the wolf, Derek throws his arm around Stiles’ shoulder, using one hand to hold his book up and the other to comfort his mat—Pack. Pack mate.

Looking over the top of his book, Peter smiles as he sees Stiles cuddled up against Derek’s side, happy that the two of them are slowly working things out, and Derek is getting comfortable with people touching him again.

He hopes, in time, that Derek will learn to stop flinching when someone reaches out to touch him.

Stiles keeps his gaze on his book and tries not to be too obvious with his smile as he reads while cuddling against Derek's side.

Stiles is lost to his book soon enough, not even noticing when it starts becoming dark and Peter turns on the lights for him, and only becomes aware of the world when Peter's gently tugging the book from his hands.

"Hey!" Stiles protests with a pout as he looks up at Peter's amused face.

"Time for a shower and bed," Peter tells him as he marks Stiles' place with a bookmark and setting the book to the side. "You have school in the morning, and I'd thought you would want to be well rested to deal with that."

Stiles grumbles as he sits up and stretches, his spine popping slightly, and pouting as he shuffles to the bathroom after collecting everything he needs from his bag and sleeping clothes to change in.

"You can use my private bathroom if you want, pup," Peter tells Derek, and Derek looks up with that look of disbelief that Peter's enforcing a bedtime on him before grumbling as he puts his book to the side—after tucking his bookmark in place, the one that Peter got him years ago—and getting up.

"I am an adult," Derek tells Peter with a scowl, and frowns when something soft and almost fragile appears on Peter's face as he touches Derek's shoulder.

"You'll always be a pup to me," Peter says softly, an odd note to his voice that Derek didn't know what it meant or what to do with. "Besides, I doubt think Stiles would like going to sleep alone, and we can't have that, can we?"

Derek flushes deeply and glares at Peter, growling as he turns and heads to Peter's bedroom and his private bathroom.

It doesn't take long for all three of them to be showered and in various states of under as they settle in Peter's large bed.

Stiles automatically turning to Derek and burying his face against Derek's chest as the older teenager hugs him loosely against him while Peter, who hadn't bothered to get dressed after his shower, and just shifted into his Alpha-form to curl around his pup's back while throwing a strong and furry arm over both of his Betas.

For once, Stiles doesn’t actually know what he wants to wear for school. For once!

This has never happened to him before, the only time he’s ever struggled on choosing an outfit was for Halloween, and that was only because he couldn’t decide on whether he wanted to be Batman or Wonder Woman that year!

There’s a knock on the door that startled him out of his contemplation, spinning around he sees Peter leaning against the doorframe and watching him with a smirk.

“You know, if you need help deciding what to wear I could always help,” the man suggests.

“Um—no I’m—“ Stiles looks down at the bed that has clothes set out all over it, and then back at Peter, “Actually, yeah some help  would be nice actually.”

“Great. Because I already had an outfit for you picked out.”

Stiles snorts, “What are you? My mom?”

Peter pauses at that, and for a moment Stiles thinks he’s going to snap but then the man just keeps moving like nothing happened.

“Something like that,” the man says mysteriously.

He hands over the denim jeans that fit around Stiles’ legs from yesterday, and a long sleeve maroon shirt with buttons at the top. Peter also pulls out the new Vans he bought for Stiles and hands those over as well as a small box.

“What’s this?” Stiles asks as he takes the small box from his Alpha.

“Something I dug up from the Hale’s ruins, it’s what we use to give the humans in our pack as a symbol to show they were a Hale,” Peter explains, watch as Stiles opens up the box and pulls out a chain necklace with a silver Triskelion attached to it.

“I...thank you, Peter. This is really nice,” Stiles says, staring at the necklace.

“It was your mother’s actually, I gave it to her when she turned eighteen. She used to wear it all the time but before she died, she gave it back to me so I could give it to you.”

"This was my mom's?" Stiles says in awe as he holds necklace even more delicately, and he vaguely remembers his mother wearing some sort of necklace always.

"Yes," Peter says softly, watching as Stiles drops the box on the bed and immediately puts the necklace on. "It's a bit more delicate and feminine compared to what is normally consider masculine, but I figured you wouldn't care considering the history of the necklace."

"Yeah, yeah, you figured right," Stiles toys with the chain and then the charm before turning to Peter and gives a weak grin. "Fuck toxic masculinity, huh?"

"Quite," Peter's mouth twitches in response. "I'll leave you to finish, breakfast will be ready when you're done, and I'll try to have lunch already packed."

"You're packing me lunch?" Stiles stares at Peter, he honestly can't remember the last time someone packed his lunch and thinks it was probably his mom that did it.

"Of course, I remember Beacon High's school lunches," Peter wrinkles his nose. "No wonder you're so skinny."

"You're really channelling Mrs Weasley, you know that, right?" Stiles tells him, and Peter affects a politely confused look on his face.

"Who?" he asks, biting back his grin as Stiles' jaw drops before the teenager points at Peter with a scowl.

"Hey! You can't pull that! Harry Potter came out long before your coma!" Stiles says hotly making Peter smirk slightly before adopting a confused look as he places a hand dramatically to his head.

"Harry....Potter? I can't really remember, it's been so long, and I'm ever so confused," Peter says as he leans against the doorway, and Stiles huffs.

"Bullshit," the teenager declares as he crosses his arms. "You're just messing with me."

"But I had you for a moment," Peter says and leaves the teenager spluttering as he cackles back to the kitchen.

"Stop trying to trick me!" Stiles calls out behind him. "I'm just a poor teenager!"

Derek snorts as he listens and watches impatiently for the coffee to finish brewing.

“Uh-huh, a poor teenager that realized I was the rogue Alpha in hiding with only a few clues, and a night spent on Google?” Peter points out.

“Yes, exactly. Poor teenager,” Stiles mocks a scorned look which gets a cackle from Peter as he leaves the room

Fidgeting with the straps on his backpack, Stiles finally decides he’s ready to go to school and walks out of the room.

The moment Derek catches sight of Stiles he feels his breath catch in his throat, the shirt really does wonders in making Stiles’ muscular arms pop. He wonders how long Stiles has been hiding under those layers of clothes, and how many people are going to be in a shock when they realize how gorgeous Stiles is.

The teenager runs a nervous hand over his buzzcut, and it makes something growl inside of Derek at the thought of others seeing Stiles like this.

Walking over, Derek stares down Stiles for a moment before lifting his hand up and running it through Stiles’ buzzcut.

He pushes down every single urge to claim and mark Stiles any further than just his scent, runs his fingers down Stiles’ cheekbones and then his throat which makes his wolf howl.

“Uh—“ Stiles says softly, breaking Derek out of his trance.

Swallowing thickly, Derek answers, “Scent marking. It-it calms our wolves down. It’s a Pack thing.”

“Oh—well then scent mark away, big guy,” Stiles opens his arms up like he’s waiting for a hug.

Rumbling with excitement, Derek drags Stiles into his arms and rubs his hands all over Stiles his chest and back, and his throat. Derek has to make sure to scent Stiles’ throat or else he’s going to go insane.

“I think that’ll do for now, Derek,” Peter chuckles behind him, he only lightly rubs his knuckles down one side of Stiles’ throat. Alpha’s don’t have to scent mark as strongly as a Beta does because their scent is ten times stronger. “Now that we’re all ready, let’s go drop off our little human at school.”

"After breakfast, I was told I'd have breakfast," Stiles says as he looks eagerly towards to the kitchen and the smells of breakfast.

"We can't have you starving, can we?" Peter chuckles as he turns Stiles to the kitchen. "We need to fill you up on your big day."

"I would like to remind you that I have been to school before and this isn't my first day," Stiles reminds Peter as the Alpha pushes him towards the table and where a large breakfast had been laid out. "Shit, you went all out."

Peter looks at table with a frown, "What do you mean? This is a normal breakfast."

Stiles drops his backpack beside his chair and takes it, "Oh, yeah, right, werewolves. You probably have to like eat, like loads, right?"

Derek snorts as he takes his seat and holds out his mug for Peter to fill with coffee, pulling the sugar and creamer closer to mix it to his liking.

Stiles enjoys the fact that he doesn’t have to eat a meal alone, Peter is glancing through the newspaper which makes Stiles snort a little to himself.

And Derek for once isn’t dressed like he’s about to join a biker gang, Stiles almost wants to crack a joke about the fact he owns a coloured-shirt but doesn’t. He knows Derek is still dealing with a lot of things so trying something new or branching out must be hard for him and Stiles is just happy the older teen is trying.

“Your father works quickly,” Peter comments as he looks at the headlines stating Peter Hale has woken up from a six year coma.

“He knows a lot of people,” Stiles shrugs, finishing off his third piece of bacon.

“As do I,” Peter says more to himself, picking up his mug and taking a sip.

When they finish with breakfast and the dishes, it’s finally time to go.

Stiles takes one last look at himself in the mirror, rubbing at his bare arms and feeling a little weird without his usual flannel to hide himself.

“You look fine,” Peter says, coming over to pop the first two buttons. “There, now you look even better. Come on, best not to dilly-dally before your big entrance.”

“This isn’t the intro to a high school romcom, you know that right?” Stiles snarks as he follows the two men to the parked garage.

“It could be,” Peter smirks back at him, opening the door to his car—his very nice, classy and expensive Shelby 1000 Cobra Ford Mustang.

"No thanks," Stiles wrinkles his nose as he slips into the backseat, throwing his backpack to the other seat. "Romcoms are unrealistic, filled with clichés and has an underlining message that I can't get behind."

"There's an underlining message to cheesy teenage romcoms?" Derek asks with some disbelief.

"Yeah," Stiles leans forward to explain. "Normally it's about how you'll only get the guy if you conform to societies' idea of being attractive and pretty. Others, it doesn't matter how much a dick a guy is, someone will find him attractive and love him and shit—which from what I've actually witnessed, is sadly true because of the brainwashing said romcoms do."

"You have strong feelings about romcoms, don't you?" Peter asks in amusement as he heads towards the high school.

"I have strong feelings for many, many, things," Stiles informs them, and Derek snorts.

"Yeah, somehow I got that feeling," the werewolf says dryly.

"Why do I get the feeling you think that's a bad thing?" Stiles pouts at Derek, and he rolls his eyes at the younger teen.

"I don't think it's a bad thing," Derek denies. "I just don't get why you would get worked up about romcoms."

"How about because they brainwash generations and generations of us into believing what's right and normal for relationships when they depict actually rather unhealthy relationships when you actually think about it?" Stiles says as he gestures wildly. "How about how they put a lot of importance on how good looking the starring couple is? Or how the girls are always different and other and cute, but always turn into a regular Barbie doll to get the guy?"

“Barbie dolls?”

“Yes, you know. Make up, the hair, the outfit. It’s like the same cover for every romcom and Hallmark movie. Always with the cliches. And don’t even get me started on Christmas Hallmark movies. I am filled with so much rage when I see those things.”

“Hmm, we may have to table this for another day. I would love to listen to your speech on modern romance movies, Stiles,” Peter says, and Stiles pauses a little at that, his cheeks going red because it just feels nice not to be shut down every time he goes on a tangent or talks about the wildest things for hours.

He could probably talk about the history of male circumcision to the Hale’s and neither of them would shut him down. He’s pretty sure Peter would add in an argument or two, while Derek sat there and watched in silence.

Stiles feels his palms start to sweat as the turn down the road to the high school, he hates it, but his brain really does make this out to be the scene of a romcom.

When the girl gets her great “makeover” and is all pretty and stylish, and has everyone’s heads turning.

Peter revs up the engine with has Stiles’ heart doing all sorts of flips and tricks before speeding past Jackson’s silver Porsche and getting into the parking spot in front of the high school.

Well fuck, here goes nothing, Stiles thinks to himself as he grabs his bag and steps out of the car.

Stiles takes a breath before turning towards the school, internally cringing as heads do turn and he can almost hear the whispers starting which just ups as Derek steps out of the car while looking like he's been on the cover of an adult erotic.

Stiles hooks the strap of his bag over one shoulder and goes over to him, tapping nervously against his thigh as he feels all the stares hitting him.

"Did I forget something or what?" Stiles frowns up at Derek, shifting nervously, and Derek looks around the parking lot before getting a smirk that Stiles immediately distrusts. "I don't like that look."

"Wear this, okay?" Derek asks as he shrugs out of his leather jacket and throws it around Stiles' shoulders.

"A Pack thing?" Stiles asks as he hands his bag over to Derek to slip his arms into the sleeves of the jacket.

Derek's cheek muscle twitches as he hands the bag back over, "Yeah, a Pack thing."

Stiles squints at Derek suspiciously, and Derek just smirks as he rubs his hand against Stiles' throat one more time before getting back into Peter's car.

"You two are going to use that reason to get away with a lot of this, aren't you?" Stiles demands, and the wolves just smirk at him making the teenager roll his eyes with a huff. "See you after school?"

Peter rolls down his window, "I'll be waiting for you, remember to eat your lunch."

"Yes, Mom," Stiles waves as he turns towards the school and the deadly world of teenage politics and popularity contests.

Stiles makes it up the steps of the high school before someone is throwing their arms around him, he startles and then smiles when he sees its only Allison.


“Hey? Hey! Hey, he says after getting out of a sexy sports car with two even sexier men driving said car,” Allison rolls her eyes, “Stiles! Oh my god, you look great! I think your boyfriends leather jacket adds to the sexy look.”

Stiles chokes on nothing, and his cheeks go red, “Oh, he’s not—“

“Oh, are you not out yet?” Allison covers her mouth with her hand and glances around, “Sorry, I just thought everyone already knew that you were bi. But for real, your boyfriend is cute. The both of you make a cute pair.”

“Um—“ Stiles feels his cheeks grow even redder and he’s not really sure what to say at the moment.

“Come on, you’re walking me to class, Prince Charming,” she gives him a wink and loops their arms together.

“What about Scott?”

"We're having lunch together, it'll be fine," Allison dismisses. "I'm really sorry about outing you just then."

"I'm...I'm...not...actually," Stiles almost bites his tongue because he really can't say he's not bi, not with the way he has been looking at Derek or with the almost kiss, and all the thoughts and fantasies about him.

"Oh, honey," Allison's face softens with sympathy as they walk to their first class. "You didn't know?"

"I'm having a bisexual awaking and I didn't even realise it properly," Stiles says with some disbelief as Allison pats at his arm. "Oh my god, I can't believe I'm so stupid!"

"Not stupid, just maybe emotionally stunted?" Allison suggests with a quirk of her lips as Stiles gapes at her.

"Somehow the idea that I'm emotionally stunted doesn't help," Stiles pauses almost thoughtfully. "Though does make some sense really."

"Are you going to have a major freak out about being possibly bisexual?" Allison asks curiously. "Because I'd advise you to hold it till after school, unless you are into the whole social embarrassment it'll cause."

"I think I'm immune to the whole social embarrassment thing by the virtue of being myself," Stiles informs her. "Truly, nothing can really embarrass me anymore."

"Apart from not properly realising you were having a bisexual awaking?" Allison asks dryly, and Stiles points at her.

"Apart from that," he agrees as he drops his hand as they head towards their lockers. "And it's not really embarrassment, it's more oh my god how didn't I know?"

“So does that mean you’re not dating Derek?”

I wish,” Stiles finds himself muttering under his breath, which causes Allison to giggle.

“Trust me, with the way he kept staring at you I’m sure you’ll have him in no time. And probably half the school after you as well.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at that, stopping at his locker to grab his chemistry book for first period, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Allison gives him a look of disbelief before shaking her head, “You really are oblivious to these kinds of things aren’t you? It’s okay, I’ll help you see what you are too oblivious to see. Now come on Prince Charming, time to go to class.”

“Are you going to keep calling me that all day?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”


“Oh shit,” Stiles ducks his head a little when he hears someone calling his name.

"You know that won't work?" Allison says as she waves towards where Lydia is working determinedly towards them with Jackson at her side and his arm around Lydia's shoulders. "Not when Lydia has the look on her face and when you look like that."

"I can hope," Stiles frowns then as he looks at Allison. "Is there something wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Apart from the fact he wasn't wearing things like that since the start of the year?" Lydia says as she comes to a stop beside them. "Stand up straight, Stilinski, and let me see you."

"I feel vaguely terrified at the thought of disobeying you," Stiles informs her honestly as he straightens up and moves away from the relative safety of his locker.

"Good," Lydia says as she smiles sharply before looking Stiles up and down like he's a piece of art she was thinking about buying or a prized dog she's interested in purchasing the stud rights to, to make sure her precious dog births prize-winning pups. "The skinny jeans fit your legs and show off how long they are, the maroon shirt fits you well and will probably show off the muscle tone of your arms if you weren't wearing the oversized boyfriend jacket and push up your sleeves, the necklace is more feminine in style and yet oddly suits you well."

"That's a good thing, right?" Stiles asks as he glances towards Allison with a hint of panic.

"You're almost attractive," Jackson adds which is the highest of compliments from Jackson.

"Thanks?" Stiles says after a moment of staring at him.

"You have to tell me who finally talked you out of your middle-school wardrobe," Lydia says approving as she reaches out to pinch at Stiles'—Derek's—sleeve.

“A family friend.”

“You mean Peter?” Allison raises an eyebrow.

“Peter?” Lydia turns to Stiles, “Is that your boyfriend?”

“Whoa! No, no, no, he’s like almost forty and he’s like a weird uncle slash mom friend,” Stiles explains, “He took me shopping the other day, I guess he also had the same thought about my clothes so—“

He gives a little shrug.

“Peter...Peter...Peter Hale? The man who woke up from coma?” Lydia surmises.

“What the fuck are you doing with him?” Jackson raises an eyebrow, “What is he like your sugar daddy?”

“Hah-ha,” Stiles says in mock laughter, “No, he’s not my fucking sugar daddy, Jackson. He’s a family friend, he...he was best friends with my mom before she died.”

Jackson makes a noise in the back of his throat, and even Lydia gets a sad look on her face.

Everyone in Beacon Hills knew about his mom and how she died, she touched everyone’s heart in Beacon Hills and was a very kind woman. So it was almost a loss to the entire town when she died.

“Well, I’m just glad he finally got you out of those ratty clothes. Makes me actually want to be seen with you,” Lydia jokes, trying to move the conversation along.

“Wow, really feeling the love here guys.”

"Love is such a strong word, more like tolerate," Jackson snorts, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

"Of course, I should get my hopes up, huh?" Stiles says dryly, and Jackson smirks cockily as he turns to Lydia.

"I told you I'm everyone's type," Jackson says with that smug cockiness that is Jackson's trademark really.

"Don't flatter yourself, Whittemore," Stiles snorts as he shuts his locker. "You're not my type."

"I'm everyone's type," Jackson says with great offended dignity, and Stiles scoffs.

"Stiles' type is tall, dark and broody," Allison teases making Stiles blush as he flails a hand at her.

"Allison," Stiles hisses, and Jackson scowls lightly.

"I'm everyone's type," Jackson insists making Lydia rolls her eyes.

"Let it go, babe," Lydia tells him as she flicks her hair over her shoulder, and the bell goes over head. "We have class, we'll meet for lunch, right?"

"Why do I feel like I'm included in this?" Stiles says, and Lydia rolls her eyes.

"Of course you're included," Lydia says as they begin to walk to class with Allison looping her arm back through Stiles' and Lydia does the same on the other side. "Don't be silly."

Why did Stiles feel vaguely hunted while being in the place most guys his age would kill to be?

Stiles glances at Jackson who doesn’t even looked bothered that his girlfriend is holding Stiles’ arm.

Gulping, Stiles walks down the hallway with both the girls on his arms, his cheeks flushing a little as people continue to give him glances or stare at him like he grew two heads.

Holy fuck. It really is like in the movies, he thinks to himself.

Walking into first period, Stiles finds himself seated between Lydia and Allison, with Jackson sitting behind him.

Scott comes walking in two minutes before the bell rings and gives Stiles a second look over, his nostrils flaring before his squares his shoulders and sits at the desk behind Allison.

Stiles raises an eyebrow at his best friends behaviour, but seeing as Scott instantly gets distracted with Allison not a minute later.

It goes like that through the whole day, people giving him second glances or leaning in to whisper to their friends.

It makes Stiles feel weird but also want to preen, and then when Scott makes an angry huff when Allison loops her arms around Stiles’ instead of his—Stiles feels a little nervous.

He doesn’t want to ruin his friendship with Scott, but the guy needs to chill, Stiles isn’t here to take his girlfriend from him.

"I was thinking of looking through my old room," Derek admits as Peter shuts the door behind them. "I know the clothes won't fit anymore, I thought I could donate them."

"That sounds fine," Peter says as he sets down his keys slowly, his hands feeling sweaty.

"Peter?" Derek looks at him with some worry, smelling how nervous Peter suddenly is. "What's wrong?"

"I," Peter licks his lips, "I think, I need to speak to you about something."

"Alright...?" Derek trails off questioningly, his face creasing into a confused scowl.

" should sit down," Peter rubs his hands together, they suddenly feel cold and tingly for some reason.

Derek does, his face closing off, but his scent filled with confusion and some dread, and Peter paces slightly before finally sitting in his leather chair. He wanted to sit next to Derek, wanted to be close enough to touch him, but he didn't think that would be a good idea, not with what he's finally able to talk to Derek about.

Peter leans forward to rest his arms against his knees as he clasps his hands, "I...I have wanted to speak with you about this for a long. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't, Talia," Peter shakes his head almost sharply. "Well, it doesn't matter anymore, she's gone, and she can't stop me anymore."

"What does Mom have to do with this?" Derek asks with a frown, and Peter flinches as he grips his hands tighter.

"A lot," Peter clears his throat and stares at his hands, he couldn't bring himself to look at Derek for some reason. "When I was sixteen, I met my mate. He was older, four years, it seems so little now, but it felt like a lot back then. We were a real-life star-cross lovers, Romeo and Juliet, but we—we were happy in our stolen moments together for almost two full years."

He swallows thickly as he realises what he next had to talk about.

"His family began to make their demands and expectations known, and I wasn't in them," Peter begins.

"I could feel him pull away as they kept demanding, and I was lonely, I needed to talk about it to someone. I couldn't go to Talia, she'd demand I'd never see him again, would break us up quicker than his family could, and Claudia had just married, I didn't want to upset her happiness with my troubles."

Peter's breathing hitches, "and then there was Robert, your father and Talia's husband," he licks his lips, "and he was kind to me. I could talk to him and he would listen, he would give me the comfort I needed and couldn't get from Talia. He was my friend, like my brother, and I-I trusted him."

His hands clench together tighter, his breathing getting more ragged.

"One day, one day, the rest of the Pack were out—school, work, you know—and Talia had taken Laura to the park for the day. It was just me and Robert, and we were in my room," Peter can feel the shudder go through him as he thinks back to that day, and he wonders if that was his mistake, that bringing Robert to his room was the reason he thought, Peter shakes his head and continues, "we were just talking, talking like normal, but there must have been something different, something I missed, some signal I gave off or something."

There's a souring of horror in the air as Peter shakes his head sharply again.

"Robert—Robert, he," Peter stops and takes a deep breath, "I didn't want it, I told him," Peter looks up and meets Derek's horrified gaze. "I didn't," Derek had to know, had to know that Peter said no, that he wasn't like that, that he would never do something like that, and then his gaze drops as he remembers. "I tried to fight him, I hit him, and I clawed at him, but he didn't care, and he didn't stop."

Robert had been older than Peter, bigger, had been able to pin him and claw off his clothes despite Peter struggling, ignoring every time Peter said no, when he shouted it, and the moment Robert got him on his stomach, Peter knew it was over, that he wouldn't be able to stop him.

Peter still remembers the sound of Robert's zipper, remember the relieved groan gave, and then he had felt it against his hole, pressing in without even giving him the slightest prep.

He screamed, had clawed at his bed as Robert forced himself in, groaning as if he was experiencing the best thing ever, and it felt like he had been split in two, he could feel himself tearing, feel the blood, and Robert just, he just kept going, and began to say such things, such disgusting and horrible things.

It had seemed to take forever, and Peter had tried to numb himself, to drift away from what was happening to his body, and he thinks he did, he thinks he had managed it for a while.

But he had been pulled back with a renewed sense of horror because it hadn't been enough what Robert had already be doing to him, no, he had grunted right in his ear and then—and then Peter had felt him growing, and he realised immediately what he was doing.

Peter, in his panic and fear, had forgotten one thing about Robert—Robert was also a born werewolf—and Robert was reminding him vividly in that moment when his knot began to swell in him, and Peter had screamed harder, more panicked, and he still wonders how Robert could have done that.

Did he force the knot, or had it still came naturally despite what Robert was doing to him? Peter didn't know.

“After that....” Peter goes quiet.


It reminds Derek of when he had first seen Peter in the hospital, dead to the world, he couldn’t feel anything, trapped in his own body.

“After that, I pretended like things were fine. Talia found me, and she...she said terrible things to me. Hit me, screamed at me, flayed my back until there was blood all over my bed. And then she left me,” Peter says, “I thought that would have been the end, but Robert didn’t stop, and she didn’t stop. It wasn’t until I found out...”

“Found out?” Derek swallows, sitting on the edge of his seat.

“I was pregnant. I spent a year feeling like shit, throwing up all the time, and having the weirdest cravings. And then—“

And now, finally Peter holds up the blanket he had in his hands last night. The one that had brought him to the edge of having a break down.

“And then, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy named, Derek Hale.”

Peter hands the blanket over to Derek who takes it with trembling hands.

Derek looks down at the blanket, it’s too small to cover his body but it would have been the perfect size when he was a baby and when he slowly grew up. He spots the initials on the inside.

D. H.

Derek Hale.

"I just wanted to hold my baby," Peter says quietly, "my pup, but they took him—you—from me, I shouted at them to bring my baby back, to bring him back, but they ignored me, you were crying, crying for me, I tried to fight for you, I did, but they had me chained, and then—and then they handed you over to Talia, and I thought this is it, this is why she hadn't done anything too bad during the pregnancy. I thought this is it, this was her plan, she'd let me think I could have my pup, let me think I could keep him and then she was going to kill him."

Peter's gaze drops to the blanket, "I was put in Eichen House after that, but I didn't care. I thought my pup was dead, my baby gone before I could even hold him, and my mate had been pulling away even before—even before Robert. It was a long year, a hard year, and then I was finally released.

I went back to the House, I couldn't even think about going anywhere else though I knew Claudia would have welcomed me home without a thought. And then there you were, beautiful and alive, and I was so happy.

You looked up and called out 'Mama', and for a moment I thought you knew me, that somehow you knew who I was, but then Talia picked you up, and I realised the truth, the truth of Talia's plan and how cruel she was."

Peter clears his throat and blinks rapidly, "I went to Claudia, of course. She had known, Talia had been parading her baby boy all year long while I thought you were dead. And I knew, I knew what I had to do if I wanted to close to you. I stayed at the house as much as I could cope with, I tried to be there for you as much as possible with Talia always watching me and quick to remind me that you were her son. Stolen moments, trying to make sure you were happy and healthy, and everything I had ever wanted for you."

“I just wanted to hold you for one moment. I wanted my pup. And—and she took you! You were mine! You were my baby boy and she fucking took you like you were some toy,” Peter starts to break down slowly. “And when the fire happened I thought, this was it. I’d never get to tell Derek the truth, he’ll never know who his real mom was. And—and I never—I never got to tell you how proud I was of you. My strong little pup, growing up so fast before my eyes and I was dying—“

Derek stands up and Peter goes eerily silent, shaking where he sits while he waits for his son to—to hit him. Yell at him. Call him a liar. Anything. He’s told him the truth, laid it all out and he knows—just knows there’s no way Derek would ever want him as his mother.

Derek takes the few steps it takes to stand in front of Peter, and he falls to his knees, clenching the baby blanket in his fist with white knuckles, tears streaming down his cheeks.

I’m sorry.”

Peter shakes his head, “No. No. You have nothing to be sorry for, pup. You’ve done nothing wrong. Never.”

“I’m a rape baby. How can you even stand to look at me? Don’t I remind you of him?” Derek quakes.

Cupping Derek’s face in his hands, Peter wipes away the tears on his son’s face.

“I see my pup. I see my handsome baby boy, with his strong cheekbones, and his cute little bunny teeth, and his green eyes,” Peter tells him the truth, pressing his lips to Derek’s forehead. “You’re my pup, you’re always going to be my pup.”


Peter sobs as he pulls his pup, his baby, into his arms properly, rocking him almost absently as if he could turn back nineteen years and Peter could finally hold his baby, and Derek clings back with all his strength.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Peter tells him, pressing kisses over Derek's hair. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Derek demands as he buries his face into Peter's neck, into his mom's neck and tries not to sob. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I should have done more, I should have taken you and ran where she couldn't find us," Peter holds Derek tighter. "If I had done that, if I just taken you, then that bitch would never have touched you. I let you down, I should have done something."

Derek shakes his head in denial because he can't believe that Peter would blame himself for that, not when it was Derek's fault. It had been Derek that believed her lies, that thought himself in love with her, and he had known Peter didn't like it, he could tell, and he had still done it!

"It was my fault, it was—"

"You were thirteen," Peter interrupts fiercely. "You were still a child. She raped you, it was never, ever, your fault."

"But I wanted it," Derek argues as he holds onto Peter's shirt, it was nothing like what happened to Peter.

"You were thirteen," Peter repeats as he strokes Derek's hair. "You didn't know any better, it wasn't your fault. It was still rape, Derek."

Derek shakes his head, confused and still in denial because it wasn't the same, it wasn't.

Kate hadn't had to pin him down to have sex with him, she only had to ask in that tone and touch and Derek would be hard in his boxers, so it's obvious that he wanted it, right?

It was nothing like what Robert—his dad—did to Peter—his mom, his mother.

Oh god, his dad did that, did that to his mom, and that's how Derek happened, and Derek—what if Derek became just like him? Just like his dad? What if—what if he did that to Stiles?

He must have been saying those things out loud because Peter grips him hard.

No. No. You are nothing like that monster. You would never hurt Stiles, ever. Do you understand me, Derek?” Peter lifts Derek’s head up so the man is staring at him in the eyes, “I know you. I may have not been able to raise you, but you are my son and you are good. You are the purest thing I have met in this world, and you’re my baby.”

Nodding his head, Derek leans forward to rest his head against Peter’s chest, tears streaming down his cheeks as he soaks in his mother’s love.

This is what he’d been missing when he was a child. He always knew there was something about him that kept him separated from Laura and Cora, he just didn’t know how horrible the truth of it was.

He’s so happy Peter didn’t die in the fire, he’s angry at his father for what he had done to Peter. This man, who he had held in high regard, was a fucking monster and if Derek could he’d kill the man all over again.

Fingers run through his hair and Derek shivers under the touch, melting under his mom’s hand.

And—and it’s such a strange realization how easy it is for Derek to accept that Peter is his mom. His smells like home and safety, like everything Derek needed when he was a child but never had.

It hurts him to think of those times when he had wished Peter would just leave or never come back. When he was angry after Paige’s death, and thought he knew better when he was sleeping with an older woman.

But Peter—his mom— was just being protective and trying to help Derek. He should have listened, he shouldn’t have been such a stupid child.

Peter runs his fingers through his son's hair, holding him close as he breathes in greedy breaths of his son's scent.

"I love you, pup," Peter tells him as he bends down slightly to press a kiss to Derek's hair. "I love you so much."

"Mom," Derek fists the back of Peter's shirt as he nuzzles against his mother's chest. "I-I love you too."

Peter's grip tighten around Derek, pulling him even closer, and they just sat there, holding each other and taking in each other's scents.

It almost doesn't feel real, Peter thinks as he nuzzles at his pup's hair, that he's here and Derek is here, and Derek doesn't hate him, doesn't blame him.

Only Claudia never blamed him before.

Talia blamed him despite having to know the truth, having found him in his room still dripping with Robert's—and blood, the air stinking of fear, horror and panic. Robert—Robert said such awful things, blaming him too, and the Pack had fallen in line with Talia, had kept their mouths shut despite what was happening.

To know that Derek didn't blame him? It was such a relief.

Pulling back, Derek sniffs and wipes his nose before lifting up the baby blanket in his hands.

“This was for me?” he asks, feeling his heart clench at the fact Peter had already made him a blanket for when he was born.

Derek has always hated the blankets his mother had given to him when he was growing up. None of them had felt right, smelled right, or made him comfortable. He guesses it was because Peter had once wrapped him up in this blanket and held him in it, before being taken away Talia.

“I had a lot of things for you that I could never give you. They’re probably in a box somewhere in the attic of the Stilinski’s house where I left it with Claudia,” Peter explains, still running his fingers through Derek’s hair.

It makes his wolf so pleased and satisfied to be able to touch Derek so freely, to give Derek the affection he needed as a baby and never got. But he’ll make it right, he’ll give Derek everything he needs and wants because that’s what his pup deserves.

“Are you going to tell Stiles about this?”

“Do you want me to?”

Derek nods his head, “He deserves to be told the truth, he’s—I trust him. A lot. I don’t know why but, there’s just something about him that makes me feel safe.”

Peter presses his lips together before deciding, well, they've already had one difficult conversation already, what's one more?

"You do know why though, don't you?" Peter asks softly as he runs his fingers through Derek's hair, and Derek ducks his head as he stares down at the blanket, stroking it absently. "Derek, you think I wouldn't notice?"

Derek stays stubbornly quiet, and Peter tugs on his hair slightly making Derek look up through his lashes.

"Derek, you don't have to hide it," Peter tells him. "This isn't something to be ashamed of, or anything like that."

"I-I can't," Derek says as he shakes his head. "I can't, I'll ruin him."

"You won't," Peter argues, but Derek just shakes his head stubbornly, totally convinced. "Derek, he's your—"

"No," Derek shakes his head more stubbornly, knocking Peter's hand out of his hair. "I can't, I won't, I don't deserve him—"

"Derek Hale, I will not let you speak about yourself like that," Peter interrupts and says sternly.

Growling in the back of his throat like a puppy who’s being told off, Derek huffs and leans back into Peter’s gentle touches as his mom pets his hair.

“I don’t feel ready for that kind of stuff again,” Derek says honestly, trying to open up about the things that have been haunting him for years.

“A relationship?”

“No. Well, yes, but also intimacy. It—I get sick when I think about being so close and vulnerable with people anymore. But when I think about Stiles, he...he makes me what to do things like that again, I feel warm on the inside and out. And I just...” Derek blows air out through his nostrils. “What if I’m broken?”

“You’re not broken. Because if you’re broken then I’m in shambles,” Peter answers, “He’s your mate, but even though he’s supposed to be the perfect match for you, it doesn’t mean he can force himself on you. Or you can force yourself on him. He’s not going to instantly fix your trauma because your mates, it doesn’t work like that. But he’s there for you when you need him.”

He pauses for a moment and then adds with a smirk, “Besides, I don’t think Noah would be too happy to catch you sniffing around his underage son.”

Derek covers his face with his hands and groans, “Don’t remind me! It’s bad enough I can tell he might have feelings for me, I don’t want to scare him away or make him feel like I don’t want him.”

Humming, Peter gives Derek’s hair a little tug as he stands up, “Come on, pup. I think we should make some cookies and let me tell you about the joys of going steady. Triple fudge with peanut butter cookies are still your favorite right?”

Okay, if Stiles got another side-glare or angry huff from his so-called best friend, he's going to scream.

Honestly, couldn't Scott use the super sniff that allows him to perfectly pinpoint all the different notes of Allison's perfume, and use it to realise that Stiles really didn't want to steal his girlfriend?

Just because Stiles is talking to Allison, and just because she's taken to looping their arms together, doesn't mean that Stiles wants to get away in their relationship!

And the silent treatment? Really? Really, Scott? It doesn't really work as well as it used to considering that Lydia, Allison and Jackson—Jackson!—is all too happy to talk with him which is weird and mostly due to the power of the make-over—at least that's the case with Lydia and Jackson.

The bell rings for lunch, and he wonders if Scott is still keeping to this silent treatment plan of his or if he's finally going to say whatever he's been chewing over all day?

"Ready for lunch?" Allison smiles at him as she packs her stuff away from the desk beside him, a spot she's taken all day.

Stiles smiles back, ignoring the grumble from Scott's direction, and thinks about finally discovering what Peter decided to make for his lunch—probably making far too much considering the werewolves didn't know how much a normal human should eat and Peter is under the opinion that Stiles is a tooth pick that needs fattening up—and packs his stuff away too as he stands and throws his bag over one shoulder.

"Sounds good," Stiles tells her just before a five-foot-three fiery-haired goddess appeared at his side and loops her arm around his. "Hello, Lydia."

"Stiles," Lydia smiles up at him with her perfectly glossed lips. "You wouldn't be trying to get out of lunch with us?"

"And suffer your wrath? Never," Stiles shakes his head as Scott quickly moves to secure Allison's arm before she can finish getting her bag over her shoulder and thus move towards Stiles, and Jackson scoffs behind Stiles.

Jackson loops his other arm around with Stiles’ which has the boy raising his eyebrows before giving in and letting them walk to the cafeteria.

Where everyone is staring and whispering under their breaths.

It makes Stiles’ skin crawl and has the urge to run and hide away in the library like he’s been doing since Scott got the bite. But Lydia and Jackson have a steel grip on his arms as they lead him to the “popular table” before having him sit down between them.

“So, Stiles how do you think you did on the chemistry test?” Lydia asks as Jackson jumps up to get them lunch.

Snorting, Stiles opens up his bag to pull out the bento box styled lunch Peter had made for him.

“With Harris being the teacher? He’ll probably find a way to fail me again,” Stiles answers, opening the box up and staring in hunger at all the food Peter packed him.

“Oh wow, what is all that?” Allison leans over to stare in hunger at Stiles’ food, along with a few others at the table.

Picking up the sticky note Peter left on the box, Stiles reads out, “Zucchini Noodle Caprese and Baked Chicken, along with some fruits, sliced avocado. A few homemade Florida rolls and some homemade chocolate chip fudge cookies.”

Jackson makes a noise as he sits back at the table with trays for him and Lydia, “What the hell? Did you get a maid?”

Stiles chuckles at that, if anyone had called Peter a maid to his face, the man would have them torn to pieces.

“No, definitely not a maid. Just a really cool friend,” Stiles grins and takes a bite of the baked chicken.

Stiles lets out a surprised moan of delight at the taste baked chicken.

"Now I really want what you are having," Allison says with a grin as she leans closer, and Jackson throws an arm over the back of Stiles chair.

"What to try some?" Stiles asks as he holds out the wooden fork that came with the box, and Allison eagerly leans forward to take the piece of chicken as Scott almost slams down his tray next to her.

"This friend of yours even cut the fruit into shapes," Lydia says as she picks up a small slice of melon cut into a star, leaning close so her hair brushes against Stiles. "I need to meet this friend."

"Probably not a good idea," Scott says as he scowls as Allison gives a little moan of delight.

"Was it Peter? If so, can he cook us dinner sometime?" Allison asks eagerly as she savours the bite of chicken Stiles shared with her. "Because I would kill to have a meal like that."

"Wait, you know about Peter?" Scott demands with a hint of horror, and Allison gives him a confused look as Jackson leans close to Stiles.

"Can I try some?" Jackson asks, his voice dropping, and Stiles flushes as he almost drops his fork and cuts off another chunk to share, and Jackson keeps eye-contact as he eats the chicken off Stiles' fork, and he gives this moan. "Allison's right, this is good."

"Yeah?" Allison answers Scott with confusion as his face seems to twist. "I met him yesterday when I was at the mall. I ran into Stiles there and met Peter, Derek was with him too."

"Derek," Lydia hums, green-eyes intent as they turn from the interesting sight of Jackson being flirty to Allison. "That's a new name."

"Derek Hale, he's Stiles' Mr Tall, Dark and Broody," Allison smirks as Stiles yelps and looks at her with mild horror.


The evil Disney Princess just laughs lightly, dimples showing.

"What do you mean, you met him?" Scott demands. "And Derek was there?" he turns to Stiles. "You were with them?"

Allison frowns at Scott while Stiles sighs.

Shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair, Stiles says, “Yes, Scott. They were both there and were very civil. And I even got to meet Allison’s lovely father.”

Scott makes a face at that.

“I can’t believe you’re hanging out with them,” Scott says with vice in his voice.

“Will you chill?” Stiles snaps, unsure where this harsh protective streak of his is coming from. “I knew Peter before the fire, he’s a nice man and was best friends with my mom. So he’s a family friend.”

Lydia glances between both the boys with a look of curiosity on her face.

“Hey, can I get some more of that chicken?”

Stiles pulls his box closer to his chest, “By this rate I won’t have any food if you guys keep asking for more bites.”

Jackson pouts and Stiles rolls his eyes, “Here, have a sushi roll.”

Jackson takes the sushi roll before eyeing his lunch tray in disappointment as Stiles starts in on the noodles with another groan of enjoyment that makes Jackson shift and Lydia smirk.

"Speaking of yesterday," Allison begins trying to ease the strange tension between Stiles and Scott, and trying to shake off Scott's strange behaviour. "We got to talking, and Star Wars came up—"

Scott immediately groans, and looks like he's about to say something to Allison, probably apologising for Stiles badgering her about Star Wars or something like that, Stiles thinks with a surprising bitterness.

"And I was thinking we should do a movie night, and binge them," Allison ignores Scott as she continues brightly, looking hopefully at Lydia and Jackson.

"It'll be a date then, another double date but with all of us," Lydia says brightly. "This Friday?"

"How could it be a double date?" Scott asks in confusion before giving a look that Stiles thinks is meant to be sympathetic, but falls just short. "Or is Stiles not invited?"

"Of course he's invited," Jackson scoffs immediately. "He's one of the people that thought of it."

"And it'll be a double day because it'll be you and Allison, and then me, Stiles and Jackson," Lydia adds brightly, and Scott's confusion deepens and twists something a bit more ugly that makes Stiles' stomach drop slightly despite the heavenly food in it.

"You can't do that though," Scott argues. "You can't date two people at once."

"And why not?" Lydia asks with a sharpness to her smile that Stiles recognises as when her intelligence is being brought into question and she's determined to cut the poor misinformed fool down to size and make them easier to crush under her expensive heels while Jackson leans back and makes a point with moving his arm to drape around Stiles' shoulders and pull him close.

"You have a problem with this, McCall?" Jackson asks almost lazily, blue-eyes sharp and intent in a very familiar way.

Scott pulls back a little at the way both of them jump at him.

He scoffs, “It’s not like Stiles is even gay.”

At those words something boils inside of Stiles if it had been a year or two ago he would have agreed with that statement. However, due to recent things being brought into the light Stiles has realized he probably isn’t as straight as he thought he was.

If the way he keeps turning to inhale Derek’s scent on the leather jacket has anything to say about that.

“Actually, Scotty, I’m bisexual. So I’m like half gay, half straight,” Stiles shrugs, ducking his head a little when everyone turns to give him a look.

“I knew it,” Danny says from where he’s sitting, and when everyone turns to give him a raised eyebrow he says, “What? It was kind of obvious growing up. Besides, I’ve seen your internet history.”

“Since when!?”

“Last year English project, you left the room and I may or may not have stumbled upon your porn folder. There was way too much leather porn in there of bearded men and twinks for you to be straight.”

“Can we not talk about my porn folder?” Stiles covers his burning face with his hands, slouching in his seat as he does so.

“Leather and gruff looking men. Hmm, I guess Tall, Dark and Handsome really is your type.” Lydia teases.

"I can pull off leather," Jackson says making Danny snort and Jackson throws him a look. "Hey, I can."

"But you aren't gruff looking," Lydia points out making him pout, but Stiles had peeked up from his hands and his gaze is watching Scott with mounting dread.

Scott had gone from gaping disbelief to that mulish bull-headed stubborn look that always got him into trouble that Stiles had to bail them out of and then be blamed for, and Stiles breaches himself.

It still doesn't prepare him for the feeling like his breath has been knocked out of him with Scott's words.

"But that's not a real thing," Scott says, and the whole table goes quiet as eyes turn to stare at Scott.

Scott flushes under the unfavourable attention, but he sets his crooked jaw and holds his head high as he defends himself, "Well it isn't!"

"You don't think bisexuality is a real thing?" Allison asks in disbelief as she angles herself away from Scott.

"Well it's not," Scott argues. "You're either gay or you're straight."

"What about Pansexuality? Asexuality?" Lydia questions as she straightens. "And that without going into the romantic part of relationships and if you feel romantic love or not."

Scott shakes his head, stubborn, and Stiles actually preys he doesn't say something else stupid.

"Asexuality isn't a thing, it's just an excuse to not have sex," Scott says, and vaguely Stiles hears someone gasps as neighbouring tables are elbowed and the noise decreases, and Stiles wants to lunge forward, to smack his hand over Scott's mouth and stop him, but he can't move, it's like he's watching a car accident and he's frozen in horror. "And Pansexuality and Bisexuality is just excuses to act like a slut."

There's more than one gasp this time, a murmur of disbelief, and Scott flushes as he realises just how many people are staring at him in disbelief and horror.

Beacon Hills is strange for a small town in the lack of hate crimes due to someone's sexuality. They had their own gay club that had special nights just for minors, so teenagers in the community could see they weren't alone.

There was a reason that no one gave Danny shit about coming out as gay and being part of a sport's team, and it wasn't just because he was Jackson's best friend and Jackson promised to ruin anyone that made fun of him for being gay, and that was that Beacon Hills prides itself of being an accepting town, and to hear one of their own sprout such bullshit?

Well, Scott's popularity is going to die a brutal and fiery death of his own making.

“Right,” Stiles pushes his seat back and closes his box up, not really feeling hungry anymore. “I just forgot I had to turn a book into the library. Nice sitting with you guys today.”

He hears Allison call his name but can’t look back at her as he basically speed walks out of the cafeteria. Sniffing, Stiles clenches his fist as he tells himself he’s not going to cry. He’s not.

Scott has always been a piece of shit, but Stiles never knew how much that shittiness extended to.

He finds a nice quiet spot outside on the bleachers and takes a seat so he can finish the rest of his lunch. Pulling his phone out he texts Peter:

User: Lunch is great :)

Before putting his phone back down, and listening to the sounds of the outside world, only to be startled when someone takes a seat next to him.

“Allison?” He glances around, “What are you doing here?”

“What I can’t sit with my friend and comfort him?” Allison teases.

Shrugging, Stiles bites out, “Do you even want to be seen hanging around with a slut?”

"You're not a slut," Allison says fiercely, almost snapping with the force of her emotions before she visibly calms herself.

"If you're a slut Stilinski, then so am I," Jackson says as he drops down on his other side with no warning, and still throwing an arm behind Stiles' back like it was nothing.

"If I had known we were going to be sitting outside, I'd have brought a packed lunch," Lydia says as she settles on a lower bench and can lean back between Jackson's legs, before glancing up at Stiles with a hint of a smile. "So, I hope you are prepared to share."

"I heard there was cookies in the box," Danny settles down in front of Allison. "If they are as good as the chicken looks like then I'm willing to fight Jackson for them."

"Why only me?" Jackson asks in mock outrage, and Danny smirks up at him.

"Because I know I can win against you," Danny says without hesitation making Allison and Lydia smirk smugly, and Jackson to snort.

"W-why aren't you in there?" Stiles asks in confusion as he clutches at the lunch Peter must have taken so much time to make him, and a lunch he thought completely ruined by him.

"If I wanted to surround myself with such stupidity, Stiles, I'd have invited Greenberg to sit with us," Lydia informs him almost snidely. "I can't stay around people that bring down my IQ by merely breathing, and Scott has proven himself to be one of those capable of doing that."

"You really expect me to sit with McCall and be fine? Especially after he called me a slut too?" Jackson snorts and shakes his head. "I've never liked McCall, and just because he's been sitting with us because of Allison doesn't mean I've changed my mind."

"Just because he thinks my sexuality is real doesn't mean I think what he said is right or forgivable," Danny says as he unscrews his drinks' lid. "Also despite Jackson being a slut—"

"Hey," Jackson mimes a kick towards him that Danny calmly ignores.

"I take offense to anyone pointing that out in a bad way," Danny continues.

“I’m not a slut,” Jackson pouts, crossing his arms over his chest as he says so.

“Kind of are, but in a good way,” Danny teases, “Now, where are those cookies? I want one.”

“Aw, man,” Stiles glances down at his five cookies. “Fine, everyone can have a cookie. But that means you can’t try anything else. This is my lunch.”

“You better give me Peter’s phone number, because I am going to hire this man to be my personal lunch box maker. These are delicious,” Lydia states as she eats her cookie slowly, wanting to enjoy every bite of it.

Stiles grins at that, “Something tells me Peter may or may not be ok with that. He’s a hard man to read at times.”

“Well, his cooking is fabulous. And if he keeps making you things like this, I might have to bully you for your lunch.”

Stiles pulls his bento box closer to his chest, and points his fork at her, “I may be terrified of you, but no one is getting between me and Peter’s cooking.”

“Unless it’s Derek,” Allison pipes in:

“Yeah, unless it’s—hey! You can’t trick me like that!”

"Actually, I can since I'm your friend," Allison says smugly as she breaks off a bit of her cookie and pops it in her grinning mouth. "It says so, right in the friendship code."

"Friendship code, huh?" Stiles asks her, and Allison nods. "And what does this friendship code say?"

"If your friend has a crush, you must tease and trick them until they admit it," Allison says as if she's remembering something, a hint of a grin pulling at her lips, "and then you help them get said crush."

"I don't have a crush," Stiles protests and Allison just gives him a look. "Okay, I have a crush, but he's completely out of my league."

Jackson snorts, "Dressed like you are? You're almost in my league, so it's obvious you can't be out of his league."

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Stiles says after a moment of staring at Jackson in mild shock, and Jackson smirks at him as he leans closer.

"Does that mean you've fallen for me?" Jackson asks as he looks through his impossibly long lashes up at Stiles, and Stiles bursts into laughter.

"Please don't tell me a line like that actually works," Stiles says through laughter as Jackson leans back, only slightly disgruntled, and the other teen shrugs.

"Sometimes I only have to smile at them, and they come running," Jackson pretends to shrug modestly as Lydia rolls her eyes and Danny looks at him with a smirk.

"And how are you not a slut, again?" Danny askes innocently making Jackson scowl at him.

"It seems you're going to have to work on your flirting skills, babe," Lydia looks up at Jackson with teasing green-eyes. "If you want Stiles to even want to be in our bed by the end of our date."

Stiles chokes on his bite of noodles and swallows harshly, "Our date?"

"Uh-huh," Lydia leans against Jackson's lean as she looks up at Stiles. "You around one of our houses, Star Wars, snacks and maybe a drink or two, and we can see where the night leads us," Lydia's eyes drag down him until Stiles feels his face flaming.

"And wear those jeans again," Lydia's eyes focus somewhere south from his face, "I like guys that can show off all their equipment."

Stiles frowns and follows her gaze, he promptly chokes and covers his crotch area with his box and turns to Allison with some embarrassed betrayal.

"Why didn't you tell me that everyone could see my," Stiles trails off as he glances down, and Allison giggles.

"Probably because everyone was enjoying seeing it?" Danny offers with a smirk.

“I’m going to strangle Peter,” Stiles growls to himself as he finishes his food before the bell rings, sitting back and listening to the chatter as his friends talk amongst one another.

When lunch finishes, Stiles feels his cheeks go a little red as they tease him a few more times before leaving him alone.

School flies by after that, mostly with Stiles avoiding Scott as much as he can and blushing every time someone flirts with him.

It feels like he walked into an alternate universe where he’s hot and everyone wants a piece of him, and honestly it’s a little hard to wrap his head around the whole thing but he starts as polite as he can, letting people down easily before running away.

It’s weird because his past self would have jumped at the chance to be in a relationship with someone. But after Derek...he may or may not be having a relapse with the Lydia thing again.

And if he makes a ten year plan that’s between him and the back of his English notebook.

When school finally ends, Stiles laughs along with a horrible joke Allison made as the go to exit the building. Lydia and Jackson on his other side, Lydia on her phone texting and Jackson looking bored as hell.

Only to stop when the revving of a familiar engine catches their attention.

Peter leans in the back of his seat where he’s behind the driving wheel, sunglasses on his face and hair styled to make him look like the star of an 80s movie. He looks rich, the way his head leans back with a little smirk like he knows everyone is watching.

And Derek? The fucking asshole is leaning against the passenger side of the car, aviators on and his arms crossed in front of his chest to show off his bulging biceps. Stiles feels like a dog as he drools at the sight of Derek in tight jeans, short sleeve shirt looking like America’s top next model.

“Oh wow, you are right. He is Tall, Dark and Handsome,” Lydia says next to him.

Stiles gives a strangled noise as Derek, the fucker, smirks while Jackson huffs as he straightens.

"I'm still better looking," Jackson insists making Lydia pat him on the arm absently.

"Of course you are, babe," Lydia says almost absently as her gaze zeroes on Peter. "The one driving is Peter? Tell him I'd pay for him to make my lunch every day."

Peter's smirk widens slightly as he no doubt listens in.

"I'll tell him," Stiles says somewhat awkwardly, knowing he wouldn't have to considering both werewolves could hear just fine. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure," Lydia turns to smile brightly up at him as Jackson wraps his arm around Lydia and looks somewhat smug as he smirks at Stiles. "We'll talk more about our date, yeah?"

Stiles flushes as Derek's smirk turns into a scowl, and he stutters slightly, "Y-you weren't joking?"

"We don't joke about things like this," Jackson says with a slight scowl, and Lydia leans forward and lowers her voice.

"Just think about how the night could go," she begins as Stiles flushes deeper and Allison pretends to be completely focused on her phone. "You between us? Or maybe," Lydia's voice takes on another tone and one hand reaches up to tug Jackson's head back by the hair, "You'd prefer to see Jackson between us?"

Stiles may have feelings for Derek, may have the beginning of a new ten-year-plan, but he can't help the way he watches Jackson's eyes flutter close with something akin to a moan and Lydia smirks smugly as she trails one nail down Jackson's throat.

"Isn't he pretty?" Lydia says in a coaxing tone. "He can be very submissive despite his mouth."

Stiles swallows thickly and tries to subtly move his bag in front of his crotch.

"Though I'm sure you could find a way to keep his mouth busy," Lydia adds as she traces her hand further down Jackson's chest.

"Stiles," Derek interrupts with a hint of a growl, suddenly standing right next to him and Stiles yelps as he holds his bag closer.

“Derek,” Stiles says in answer, he’s pretty sure his face is doing a perfect impression of a tomato right now.

The wolf towered over him and a low growl escapes his throat. He wants to bare his teeth and flash his blue-eyes at the human until he runs away.

“Hey, big guy—uh,” Stiles says, a hand coming up to pat Derek’s chest.

He squeaks when Derek throws an arm over his shoulders, and his hand comes up to stroke down Stiles’ throat, the wolf wraps his long fingers around Stiles’ throat to mark his scent all over him before letting it rest there.

“Come on. Don’t want to keep Peter waiting, now do we?” Derek smirks, bringing a finger to pull down his aviators as he stares at Stiles’ lips.

“Um-Uh, no, we don’t,” Stiles stutters out.

Derek gives him this little smirk that has Stiles weak to the knees, the man glancing up to stare down at the three other teenagers before giving Stiles a tug.

Leading him away, Derek drops his arm down to wrap it around Stiles’ waist, glancing behind him to send a murderous look at Jackson and Lydia.

When they get to the car he opens up the back door for Stiles, glancing around and scowling when he sees Argent picking up his daughter.

“Come along, Derek. No need to play with the teens anymore, I’m sure you already got their attention as it is,” Peter smirks.

Derek huffs as he slides in next to Stiles and throws his arm around Stiles' shoulders and pulling him against his side.

"I don't like him," Derek hears Jackson say to Lydia.

"It seems we have competition," Lydia muses without taking notice of her boyfriend's pout, and Derek wants to bare his teeth at them, but he settles with pulling Stiles closer to him and lowering his head to rub his cheek against Stiles' buzzcut.

"Scent marking, yeah?" Stiles swallows nervously, wishing he could discreetly pull his bag back over his crotch and hide how obvious it is he's getting a more than a bit turned on by Derek being so close to him, holding him, rubbing his cheek against his hair, and oh god, he smells like cookies at the moment and cookies shouldn't turn him on, but it's Derek.

Peter snorts at the smell of arousal coming from the backseat and pulls away from the school, and back towards his apartment and home.

Derek can't help the rumble that escapes him, his wolf encouraging him to take his mate and drenching him in his scent until Stiles smells of StilesandDerek, and any werewolf would know to back off from his mate.

Derek shakes his head sharply, pushing away his wolf and the word mate, and tries not to get pulled by the scent of Stiles' arousal.

“So, um I’m guessing you heard everyone really like the lunch you made for me?” Stiles starts, trying to move the conversation and think about anything else but Derek rubbing all over him like a house cat.

“Oh yes, I heard. But I’m not going to take up the offer. I only make food for my pups and that’s it,” Peter answers plainly, his wolf growling a little at Stiles sharing the meal he made for him with outsiders.

But he pulls it back and reminds the wolf that Stiles is human, and is already theirs, he can share the food as much as he wants but he still belongs to the Hale pack.

“Lunch was really good, how in the world did you have time to make this all?” Stiles feels his eyes flutter close as Derek rubs his hand over his stomach and making him feel sleepy and warm.

“Derek helped make some of it while we were making breakfast,” Peter explains, glancing in the rear view mirror to check if anyone is following them before turning down his street.

“Hm, that’s nice of you Der,” Stiles mumbles, “Dude, I’m going to fall asleep if you don’t stop petting me.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek grouches, keeling up his petting while pressing his nose against Stiles’ throat.

Peter smiles when he smells the content coming off of his son and Stiles, he slows down a little so the two of them can enjoy this moment a while longer before they get to the den.

"Mmkay," Stiles says as his eyes flutter close as his head drops to against Derek as he dozes.

Derek rumbles with contentment as he covers up the scents of others and replaces it with only his scent, and he has to resist the urge to lick at Stiles' throat or maybe suck a little mark as a claim against Stiles' neck.

He has to pull his nose and mouth away from Stiles' throat, his beautiful and unmarked throat, and contents himself with Stiles' head against Derek's shoulder as he keeps petting over Stiles.

"You may have to carry him up," Peter says quietly as he get closer to their den, and Derek pulls Stiles closer.

Peter doesn't need to look back to see the soft look on Derek's face as he watches Stiles, and he pulls up to the underground parking entrance and clicks the button to open up the gate and he drives in and then to his parking-space.

Derek does carry Stiles up to the apartment, cradling the teenager in his arms and resisting the urge to claim and do anything that isn’t PG-13 with Stiles.

Especially when Stiles’ face turns to the side and noses against his throat, it has his wolf groaning with the need for more, so desperate for human contact, but he pulls away and sets Stiles down on Peter’s bed before leaving, shutting the door behind him.

Sighing as he sees his old bedroom, Derek makes his way over to the room and looks at all his old junk there.

The bookshelf with comics and other books of the sort, a few action figures sitting on there that his younger self thought he was too cool for when he was a teenager.

He thought if he did sports he wouldn’t be the weird gangly kid and would finally start filling out, now he hates that he tried to hide all the interest he had here, thought if he put them in Peter’s apartment he’d never see them again because he rarely came over to Peter’s place.

Now, he wished more than anything he spent more time here, spent more time with his real mom and not some hoax of a woman that filled him with lies and always turned away when he was hurt.

“Did you want to keep everything in here? Or give it away? It’s still your stuff, even though it’s in my house. I was never going to touch it,” Peter says from the doorway.

Derek shrugs, and sets the Superman action figure back on the shelf, “I might clean it up, maybe turn it into an office or a second bedroom.”

“I have an office in here you can use if you need one,” Peter tells him, watching as Derek takes a seat on the small single bed, looking like a giant as he sits on it.

“I know but um—I was thinking. Something Laura said when we were in New York,” he clenches his fist together as he struggles with the words, “I want to start college classes again but...”

“If it’s about money, I promise we’re not short on any,” Peter tells him, coming to sit down next to his son.

“No it’s not that, I um. I want to get better, for Stiles—and myself. I don’t want to keep struggling with simple things,” he tries to explain without saying the words.

“You want to see a therapist?”

Derek clenches his jaw and nods shortly, trying to push away the embarrassment and shame that always comes when he thought about going to therapy.

It had made him walk away whenever Laura thought to bring it up, made him shut himself in his room and work out until he dropped, shaking, on the floor and Laura decided not to bring it up again for another year.

Peter nods thoughtfully beside him, "I think we should both see a therapist."

"What?" Derek looks up in surprise, and Peter's face tightens as he looks down at his clasped hands.

"I realised today," Peter clears his throat slightly, "that I haven't dealt with what happened to me."

Derek swallows thickly as he realises what he meant, and he tries not to feel sick because he thinks he may be sick this time as what happened to Peter—to his mom—has fully sunk in.

"Claudia said I should talk to someone about it," Peter twists his lips dryly and bitterly, "but she also wanted me to tell Noah, get justice."

But it had been too late, Peter had healed, and it would be down to Peter's word against Robert's and Talia's, and he didn't have any doubts who would win the court of public opinion.

"Anyway, we should do this together," Peter says after a moment. "Get help together. I'll look into someone in the know, someone we can talk to fully without editing and actually getting help."

"That sounds good," Derek says somewhat gruffly, still feeling some shame and embarrassment at the idea of having to go to therapy.

Turning his head, Peter wraps an arm around Derek’s shoulders and brings his son close to his chest.

“Listen to me, pup, there is nothing to be ashamed about asking for help. Okay?” Peter presses his lips to his son’s forehead and squeezes Derek in his arms. “It’s okay to be scared, but never be embarrassed, these people are to help broken people like us.”

“We are kind of fucked up, aren’t we?” Derek chuckles, which earns a snort from Peter.

“Certainly,” he glances around the room that was made for an adolescent boy and not a man, “Perhaps I should let you borrow my laptop, and you can find yourself some stuff you want. Put it in the cart and I’ll pay for it.”

“Mom, you don’t have to.”

“Ah, but I need to make up for years of missed birthdays and Christmas’s. And besides, I always want to spoil my son,” Peter smiles.

"You don't have to," Derek protests again, Talia's admonishment of him being greedy ringing in his ears.

"Perhaps I want to," Peter tugs his son closer, burying his nose against his pup's hair. "I want you to have everything you want or need to be happy and healthy, and changing this room can be the first thing we start with, okay?"

"Together?" Derek rests against Peter easily, still marvelling that he has his mom here and with him, his real mom that loves him and wants him to be happy.

"Always, pup," Peter presses a kiss to Derek's hair. "From now on, we'll do things together."

Derek turns into Peter, holding him close and buries his nose against Peter's throat as he breathes in the scent of home, of his mom.

"Are you having a puppy-pile without me?" Stiles asks groggily from the doorway, rubbing his eyes still slightly sleepy and pouting at them. "That's mean."

Peter chuckles and opens up one arm for Stiles to shuffle over and curl into him, perching on Peter's knee, and Stiles slumps, so he's resting against both Peter and Derek, and Peter chuckles as Stiles seems to fall back to sleep now he's with them.

“I do like this one. He’s adorable,” Peter says as he pets the back of Stiles’ head, humming at how soft the buzzcut feels under his hand.

“I like him too,” Derek agrees, wanting to take Stiles and curl around him but also not wanting to fight with his Alpha.

Humming, Peter runs his hand over Stiles’ head once more before standing up, “I think we should wake him up in a bit, don’t want to mess with his sleep cycle now do we. I’ll go start on dinner and you can look on my laptop while waiting.”


Peter’s heart swells at his son calls him by that title, he runs his fingers through Derek’s hair until their wolves are purring, and then leaving the room to head towards the kitchen, pulling in an apron while he opens up the fridge and figures out what to make that evening.

“Hmmm, homemade pizza sounds good,” Peter says to himself as he pulls out the cold pizza dough and other things he’ll need to make pizza.

Derek hesitates as he looks down at where Stiles slumps against him, and then he sweeps up Stiles into his arms and moves them out to the living room where he lays Stiles out on the couch and sits down after grabbing Peter's laptop.

He smiles slightly as Stiles wriggles his way closer and noses at his thigh, and he moves his hand to pet at Stiles' hair as he waits for the laptop to boot up.

"What's your password?" Derek calls softly.

"DH241292," Peter answers promptly from the kitchen, and Derek pauses as a warm feeling spreads through his chest and he types in his initials and date of birth.

Derek pulls up Google and he taps idly as he wonders where he should start.

Paint, he can buy in town and it would let him properly choose the colour he wants, and the little things he may need, he could find in the mall.

Furniture could be something to look into, proper furniture that can handle the abuse of werewolf, and not breaking like tissue-paper like most flat-packed furniture he could get in town.

Wood would fit in with the rest of Peter's furniture as Peter's apartment is filled with wood—custom-build wooden bookcases filling three of the walls of the living-room, a wooden trunk used as the coffee-table, an antique wooden side table by Peter's prized and comfortable leather armchair, and wooden frames for all of his photos and pieces of the art decorating the free wall and that was just the living-room.

So, he needs to look into custom wood furniture, a matching set because he knows Peter wouldn't be impressed if he just ordered a bed.

Derek gets about half an hour into looking up some furniture he wants and eyeing at college classes before Stiles wakes up.

The human inhaled deeply and nuzzles his face against Derek’s thigh before freezing when he realizes what he’s doing.

Pulling away, cheeks red, Stiles mutters a soft, “Sorry,” and then tries to get off the couch to hide in embarrassment.

But Derek simply loops an arm around his waist and pulls him back down on the couch with him, turning his head around so he can nose at the fine hairs on top of Stiles’ head, and puff his breath so his scent gets all over him.

Stiles settles against him, watching as Derek silently clicks through the pages and looks at the furniture.

“Oh, that looks nice,” Stiles points at the dark wooden bookshelf.

Derek makes a hum in the back of his throat, before adding it to the cart.

They both settle there for a while bouncing off which furniture would go good in his new room until Peter finishes with the pizza.

“Alright, pups. Dinner is all nice and done, come and get it while it’s hot,” Peter announces, setting down two large hot pizzas on the table.

Stiles stretches his arms over his head, getting ready to get off the couch when he says, “Aw man, your uncle—“

“Mom. He’s uh, my mom,” Derek corrects.

Blinking, Stiles smiles and then says, “Your mom is the best. I love his cooking so much.”

Derek ducks his head with a small smile as Stiles stands and heads towards the kitchen.

"You sure you'll have enough?" Stiles eyes the two large pizzas, and Peter smirks as he dishes up a load potatoes wedges on the three plates he already laid out.

"Touché," Stiles says as he sits down in what he's come to claim as his chair while Derek enters the kitchen. "So, am I staying here or going home tonight?"

"I've talked with Noah," Peter says as he cuts up the pizzas in large slices. "He says you can stay here for another night as long as you complete your homework and go to school without any issue."

"Cool," Stiles says as he almost burns his fingers picking up on of those wedges and biting into with a half-pained moan.

"You could wait, you know?" Derek says dryly, and then completely ruins his high ground by using his claws to pick up a wedge and eat it, and having to wave a hand at his mouth.

"Really? Stiles gives him a look. "You telling me to patient and then do the same thing?"

"I heal," Derek says maturely making Peter snort as he places the first slice on everyone's plate.

"That isn't an excuse though," Stiles insists as he points at Derek.

Peter sits there watching his pups happily bicker and snark at one another, the feeling of something settling deep within his chest, as the Alpha instincts inside of him purr with joy.

Of course that all comes to a flat end when Stiles announces he’s studying over at Allison’s house tomorrow.

“Absolutely not,” Peter growls, flashing red-eyes as he does so.

“What? Why not?” Stiles frowns.

“Have you forgotten that her family is a bunch of hunters? The ones who burnt our house down.”

Stiles makes a face, “No. I haven’t forgotten, and I never will. But Allison, I don’t think she’s aware yet of what her family does, and I know it sounds stupid. But I feel like, if I’m friends with her and the time comes she can talk to me and ask if what her family says about werewolves. I can tell her the truth.”

“And what would the truth be?”

A slow smile curls it’s way on Stiles’ face, “That werewolves are a bunch of giant puppies that love to cuddle, and Peter is the best Alpha.”

A growl rises in Peter’s throat, as he drags Stiles into his arms, “You’re going to scare me to an early grave, you know that?”

“I mean, we haven’t figured out what I am yet. So maybe I can somehow magically bring back the dead,” Stiles teases.

Peter snorts and rubs his cheek against Stiles' head before letting the teen to move back to his chair and finish eating.

"We're driving you there and home," Peter says firmly, and Stiles gives a playful salute.

"Yes, Alpha," Stiles says with a cheeky grin making Peter roll his eyes fondly.

"Will Lydia and Jackson be there?" Derek says somewhat grumpily, and Stiles flushes as he remembers the scene they were about to witness.

"Yeah, yeah they are," Stiles looks down awkwardly and mops up some pizza sauce with his potatoes wedge, and Derek gives a little growl as he takes a big and unhappy bite of his pizza.

On the one hand, Derek isn't happy and having his son so unhappy isn't what he wants. But on the other hand, it's cute to see his son be jealous despite the obvious crush Stiles is harbouring on him.

Ah, the hardship of motherhood, Peter muses as he watches his pups.

"Oh, and Danny, Danny will be there," Stiles gives a smile. "Everyone loves Danny."

Do you love Danny? Derek wonders as he stares at Stiles. Or do I only have to worry about Lydia and Jackson?

Peter covers his mouth to hide his coo as he watches his son fret and stew in his jealousy, it was so adorable.

When they finish up with dinner, Stiles suggest they watch a movie and then bullies both the older men into sitting down at the couch and watching it with him. Grinning when both of them pretend to be annoyed but both enjoy the movie.

 Peter is surprised a little when Stiles pushes him to sit in the middle, and throws a blanket over all three of them. His wolf purrs at having his son and Stiles curled up against his side.

Derek throwing an arm around them all so he cannot, so secretly scent mark Stiles, while Stiles leans against him without noticing anything.

“Did you finish all your homework?”‘ Peter asks half way through the movie which gets Stiles pausing.

“Um—maybe some of it. But I haven’t really gotten around to math,” Stiles answers.

“After this movie you’re going to finish all your homework, or no cookies.”

Groaning, Stiles curls up against Peter and nods his head, “Fine. But only because I love your cookies, not because you told me to.”

"Of course," Peter hides his smirk as he turns back to the movie.

Stiles squints at Peter suspiciously before turning back to the movie with a grumble as Derek press his smirk against Peter's shoulder.

"It is because of the cookies," Stiles insists after a moment, and Derek snorts.

"Of course, my dear boy," Peter agrees easily, and Stiles snuggles against him with another grumble, throwing one arm over Peter's stomach, and Derek takes the chance to rub his thumb against the back of Stiles' wrist almost idly as he watches the movie.

The movie ends and Stiles grumbles as he pulls out his school work from his backpack, and settles on the couch to suffer with AP Calculus. Derek sits next to him still with Peter’s laptop on his lap as he finishes up looking at anything he might want in his room.

Peter sits across from them with a glass of whiskey and an old book on his lap, flipping through the pages as he listens to the calming sound of pen scratching against paper and fingers tapping on the keyboard.

A page he comes upon has him pausing as he rereads it over and over again before flipping through the book to come upon some other things of interest.

Finishing up his glass of whiskey, Peter looks up and holds the glass out, “Stiles, would you do me a favour and get me another glass of whiskey?”

Stretching his arms over his head, Stiles gives a little shrug as he says, “Yeah, sure.”

Reaching over to grab the glass from Peter, the older man smirks and then drops the glass.


“Wait! Shit!” Stiles flails, trying to grab the glass out of thin air, only to shut his eyes when he expects to hear the sound of glass shattering against the floor, only it never comes.

Opening his eyes, Stiles feels his mouth drop open as he stares at the glass still frozen in mid-air.

“I think I just found out what you are, my dear boy.” Peter says, his eyes never leaving the glass.

"Please tell me you didn't just drop what looks like expensive glass just to test if I had superpowers," Stiles says flatly as he stares at the frozen glass.

"Stiles, my dear boy, of course it's expensive," Peter tsks lightly, as if disappointed that Stiles would think he wouldn't have some ridiculously expensive glassware to drink his whiskey and other alcoholic drinks from. "It's crystal glassware."

"Oh my god," Stiles whimpers as he beholds the tumbler he's holding with the power of his mind and that costs anywhere over one thousand dollars, and he tumbles off the couch to grab it before whatever he's doing wears off.

He doesn't even what to know what make the tumbler is or if it's antique, because knowing Peter? Knowing Stiles' luck? It's probably antique and fiendishly expensive, and probably costs more than everything Stiles has ever owned in his whole life.

"And it's not a superpower," Peter continues as if Stiles isn't hugging the tumbler to his chest on the floor.

"Uh, hell yes it is," Stiles argues, unable to stop himself. "I didn't want it to fall and I stopped it with the power of my mind! That's some telekinesis power there."

"Stiles," Peter gives a sigh as if he hates that he has to break Stiles of his disillusion, but is still going to take some joy in it. "We don't deal with science fiction."

"Oh, just fantasy then?" Stiles snarks at the actual werewolf, and Peter's lips twitches into a smirk.

"Quite," Peter inclines his head. "When you stopped my tumbler from falling, you used your will and magic, not your mind and not telekinesis."

"It's magical telekinesis," Stiles argues because he's so not giving up the telekinesis thing because he finally has superpowers, and he won't let Peter take it away from him with things like magic.

Stiles pauses, okay, magic is cool, and doesn't have the normally horrible or traumatic backstory that superpowers need to become a thing.

Though he's horribly overdue his Hogwarts letter if he's magic.

“Okay, so I’m like the older version of Harry Potter?” Stiles jokes.

“Less being the chosen one, and more magical powers. You’re a Spark,” Peter explains, which has Derek’s attention jerking upwards.

“A spark?”

“Spark. With a capital S,” Peter corrects.

“Okay, what does being a Spark entail? Can I like only do somethings? It doesn’t really sound all the impressive,” Stiles settles back on the couch, rubbing at his chin.

“Unlike what the title says, a Spark actually is one of the most powerful of all magic users. Unlike the others, your abilities aren’t enabled with the help of nature, a wand or books. You use your magic by the sheer force of will and belief,” Peter explained, shifting his book around so Stiles could see it.

“Oooh, I don’t know about that. Me and my self-esteem issues don’t really go hand in hand,” Stiles said nonchalantly as he took the book.

"How you can be so confident facing what you believe is a crazy werewolf and yet have such lacking confidence in other areas, I will never understand," Peter shakes his head. "But we can work on your self-esteem issues."

Stiles makes a noncommitting noise as he scans the page, chewing his bottom lip as the page basically says what Peter's already told him, but with more words and descriptions of other Sparks.

Because Peter actually believes that Stiles is a Spark which makes Stiles almost blanch because really? Him? A Spark? A powerful magic user? That doesn't sound right.

Stiles is the annoying and somewhat witty side-kick. The kid with ADHD and a mouth that always gets him into trouble. The impulsive idiot that drags his best friend on a hunt for a dead body and ends up getting said best friend bitten by a werewolf after believing he had protected said friend from the worse thing in their world; parental disappointment and disapproval. And he's the freak of nature that the Bite didn't work on.

Oh, right, and the slut that can't decide on a proper sexuality, Stiles adds with a surge of bitterness as he remembers Scott's words.

"How does stopping a tumbler from smashing into teeny tiny and expensive bits make you think I'm a Spark?" Stiles asks as he hands the book back, more than a hint of disbelief in his voice.

"Because you did that on reflex without any training, no spell, no foci, nothing," Peter points out with raised eyebrows. "Though just because you are a Spark," no doubt in his voice, Stiles notes, and he doesn't know if he's flattered or terrified by Peter's faith, "doesn't mean you'll be able to do what you want. I think it’s something you'll need to work on and develop like any skill."

"So, more homework?" Stiles quips, and Peter smiles, understanding and filled with faith in Stiles.

"More of a group project really," the older man says gently. "We can work on this as a Pack, something I'd greatly prefer we do."

“This better involve a lot of fun and magical shenanigans, or I’m returning this,” Stiles huffs, picking the book back up so he can look over the stuff on Sparks.

Derek looks up from where he was typing away on the laptop to look up and watch the scene before him. He huffs a little at Stiles’ antics, a smile twitching it’s way on to his face.

“So, is there like a magical teacher you’re going to find to train me?” Stiles flips over to another page, his eyes catching on the words ”Werewolf Mating Habits” and he memorizes the page number for later.

Peter grimaces at the thought of speaking to Deaton, not only that but asking the man for help? After all he’s done to Peter?

No. He would never go that low. Not even if he was on his last dying breath.

“No. Unfortunately, sparks are extremely rare in this day and age. And I wouldn’t trust a single magic user to train you because they’re usually selfish and would try to steal your power,” Peter answers darkly.

“Oh, come on. I can’t be that powerful,” Stiles waves him off.

Peter gives him a look, “Stiles, you just froze time. Without even thinking about it. That is practically impossible to any magic user, even the strongest or oldest one could never accomplish something like that.”

Stiles immediately scoffs in disbelief, "I didn't freeze time. I stopped the tumbler with magical telekinesis."

"That didn't waver in your shock?" Peter asks almost archly, giving him a look. "The tumbler didn't waver or move until you touched it. You stopped time around the tumbler."

"But that's—that's," Stiles almost bites his tongue because he almost said impossible to the werewolf in front of him.

Impossible stopped being a real thing to him since Scott was bitten and proved to be a real life werewolf from myth and legend.

"Okay, so I may have stopped time," Stiles says weakly, trying to remember that show Charmed, and that sister—her name was Piper, he thinks—that could stop things on a molecular level which made it seem like she stopped time.

So, Stiles probably didn't stop time because that would be insane, but he may have stopped the molecules around the tumbler or something? He didn't know! He needed to do some much research on this.

"Yes, you stopped time," Peter agrees almost dryly.

"Okay, I need to research this shit right now," Stiles says as he looks around—where did he put his pills again?

"Is your homework done?" Peter arches one brow, and Stiles freezes as he looks almost guiltily at his half-completed homework.

"Yes?" Stiles tries making Derek snort and Peter to give him a disappointed look at even trying to lie to a werewolf, and Stiles slumps. "But research!"

"Research that can wait till the weekend," Peter says sternly, and Stiles gapes at him in disbelief.

"You expect me to put off researching everything I can find on magic for the rest of the week?" Stiles demands almost shrilly making Derek snort again.

“The faster you are, the quicker you can do some research before your bedtime,” Peter quips, taking the book back from Stiles’ hands.

A bedtime!? I’m seventeen! I don’t need a bedtime,” Stiles exclaims, flopping back down on the couch and pouting like a child.

“Don’t worry, Derek also has a bedtime as well.”

“What! But I’m nineteen! I’m an adult,” Derek growls the last part a bit.

“Wait, you’re nineteen? Dude, I thought you were like twenty-four or something. We’re basically two years apart,” Stiles goes quiet for a moment, “Huh, weird. All this time I thought you were older.”

“Trauma tends to make people appear older than they are. Not me of course, I always look good no matter what my age is,” Peter smirks, and settles back in his seat with the book in hand.

“This is so dumb,” Stiles growls, and it sounds something akin to a wolf’s growl which has Derek flushing a little, the redness going unnoticed as Stiles focuses on his homework with a laser like focus that has both of the wolves raising their eyebrows.

“Teenagers,” Peter rolls his eyes, and then stands up to walk over to his bookshelf and collect all the books he knows Stiles will need for later, taking note on which ones he will have to go find in the Hale vault.

Peter taps his fingers on the stack of books and hums, he should probably look into the vault sooner rather than later considering he didn't know how much access Talia gave Deaton, and he would rather have the priceless tomes his family's been responsible for decades and centuries be safe and under his care instead of possibly in the greedy and grubby hands of Alan Deaton.

Derek moves his attention to back to the laptop as Stiles' pencil scratches over the paper next to him as the younger teenage mutters and grumbles to himself.

Derek's involved with reading some of the local hobby classes offered—he didn't know that the local college offered night classes for things like pottery, basket-weaving, glass-blowing and things like that when Stiles gives a cheer as he flops away from his books and back against the couch.

"I am free," Stiles declares before turning to Peter and makes gimme-hands. "Books! Research! My life's calling!"

Peter snorts as he hands over the smallest book over to the eager teenager, and snorts again as Stiles hugs it to his chest briefly before flipping it open.

“It’s a good thing I have enough books on magical theory and such to hold your interest, I’m afraid what would happen if you didn’t have them,” Peter says as he sets down another handful of books on the table.

“Probably stay up on eBay looking for any and all books of Sparks and that sort. Maybe spend three hours on fake supernatural websites until my eyes burned,” Stiles answers like he’d already done such thing before.

It’s about thirty minutes into reading when Stiles’ phone goes off, making a face he picks it up and raises an eyebrow when he sees its Allison calling.

“Hey, what’s up Allison!” he says with a smile on his face, ignoring the growls he gets from the wolves.

He hears a sob come from the other side of the phone, and immediately Stiles is on his feet, “Allison?”

“Can you come over?” she says through tears.

“Yes. Of course, are you okay? Do I need to get you anything? Chocolate, wine, pads? Um, other things girls need when they’re sad?” Stiles says, getting off the couch and grabbing his keys, while shoving his feet into his shoes.

“No, you don’t have to get anything. I just—I just need to talk to a friend. And maybe cry on a shoulder,” she tells him, sniffling through the line and making Stiles move a little faster.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he tells her before hanging up.

Peter stops him right before he can get to the door, he gives the older man an exasperated look at that.

“What if it’s a trap?” The Alpha growls.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “She’s a teenage girl, I doubt she’s plotting my death. She’s probably on her period.”

“I’m driving you,” Peter says, leaving no room for argument.

"Do you even know where the Argent's live?" Stiles asks as Peter takes his keys and throws them over to Derek.

The werewolf grabs the keys without looking up from the laptop, affecting the image of completely unaffected by the idea of Stiles going to the Argent's. Stiles didn't trust the image considering how tense Derek's sitting and the way his gaze hasn't moved from a certain place on the screen.

"Of course I do," Peter says with some offense, he prides himself knowing where any possible enemy lives in Beacon Hills.

"Alright," Stiles says and Peter goes to grab his keys and a jacket.

"Wear my jacket," Derek says when Stiles heads for the door, and Stiles frowns slightly, but he nods and grabs the leather jacket from off the couch and pulls it on. "Keep your phone on you."

"Will do," Stiles says as Peter comes back with his jacket on.

"Let's go then," Peter sighs before a twisted smirk comes on his face. "It'll be nice to see how Victoria is nowadays."

"Somehow I don't trust that smirk," Stiles says as he follows behind Peter and out of the door.

"Good instincts," Peter informs him as he heads towards the elevator.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles follows Peter down to the parking garage where Peter parked his car, they both get in and Stiles suffers the silence Peter is giving him in the car ride.

“You didn’t have to come, you know. I could have just gotten an Uber or something,” Stiles picks at his nails, a nervous habit he picked up in middle school that never went away.

“And leave you to defend for yourself against the Argents? Never. You’re my Beta, you may not have been my first one, but you chose me as your Alpha. And I am going to do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe,” Peter tells him in a steely voice, making sure Stiles understands how much he means to him—to the Hale’s in this pack.

Looking over, Stiles bites in his thumb as he sees the hard look on Peter’s face.

“Thank you, Alpha.”

His wolf purrs at that and he wants to reach over and drag Stiles into a hug, but then he catches sight of the Argent’s house. And his wolf begins to snarl and grabs its teeth with rage and fury, but also whine because Chris and mate.

“You can do this, Peter,” he tells himself quietly.

Stiles chews on his nail as he hears the mutter from Peter just as they pull up in front of it.

"I can just text you later?" Stiles offers only for Peter to give him a look before he opens the door, and Stiles is quick to follow because no way is he allowing Peter to walk up to the door alone.

Stiles almost trips as he hurries to the door and rings the bell before Peter, his Alpha watching him with a faint raised eyebrow.

It's reminds him strongly on Scott's first full moon when Mrs Argent opens the door with a cool look on her face.

"Yes?" she asks calmly in a cool tone and then her face twists as Peter shifts, her green eyes narrow into slits. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Victoria," Peter lies without blinking, a smirk curling his lips as he shoves his mildly shaking hands into his jacket pockets. "I believe your daughter is expecting us."

"What do you know about my daughter?" Victoria demands coldly, furiously, her hand clenching around the door and looking moments from slamming it into their faces.


Stiles looks away from the obviously furious Hunter lady to the balcony where Allison is standing with red-rim eyes.

"Hey, Allison," Stiles waves his hand weakly as Mrs Argent turns her gaze on him, green-eyes blazing with quiet murder, and Allison gives a sob before racing for the stairs and down them.

Stiles braces himself, and Allison throws herself against him with another sob as she wraps her arms around Stiles.

"I suppose you should come in then," Mrs Argent says stiffly and reluctantly as she steps away from the doorway, and Stiles shuffles into the house with Allison wrapped around him and Peter's hand at the middle of his back.

“I didn’t think you wanted to come in and deal with teenage antics, Mr. Hale,” Victoria spits the words out as sweetly as she can.

“Oh, well seeing as I’m Stiles’ ride back to his house, I don’t feel like leaving him,” Peter smiles viciously at her, stepping into the house like he runs the place.

Chris stares at Peter like he’s seeing a walking ghost.

Stiles glances down at them before being led to Allison’s room, where she curls up on the bed against him.

“So um, as much as my preteen self would have loved to share a bed with a girl. May I ask what you brought me here for?” Stiles says, brushing Allison’s hair out of her face.

“I broke up with Scott.”

“Oh...oh shit,” Stiles hugs her closer, “And you didn’t want me to bring ice cream!”

She chuckles a little, and then sniffs, “No, my dad already got me a pint.”

"Do you want to talk about it?" Stiles asks after a moment.

"No," Allison says immediately before seeming to think about and lets out a sigh. "Yes."

"Take as much time as you need," Stiles says as Allison rests her head on his chest.

"Thanks," Allison says quietly, chewing on her bottom lip and wiping at her cheek. "I really liked him."

"I know," Stiles says as he strokes her back, not adding that Scott really liked her too.

"I thought he was a good guy," Allison says as she fists at Stiles' shirt.

Stiles bites his lip to stop saying that Stiles once thought that too, before asking softly, "Is this about what happened today?"

"Yes!" Allison sits up and clenches her fists. "I can't believe he thought like that! In this day and age? What the hell? And he said that basically to your face? You're his best friend!"

"He could change?" Stiles offers weakly, sounding unconvinced to himself, and Allison looks at him almost sadly before flopping back down.

"It wasn't just that," Allison admits as she looks at Stiles' shirt, wishing he had changed into one of his funny or ironic shirts, so Allison could have something to look at instead of just maroon. "It was just kind of the last straw, you know?"

“What did he do before that upset you?” Stiles asks.

“He was just—I don’t know. He kept having these mods swings, one minute he was nice the next he was just angry and growling. I didn’t even do anything, and he’d get angry for no reason,” she explained.

Something about her words clicked in Stiles’ brain and he found himself smacking his forehead in his mind.

How could he be so stupid? Scott was still a werewolf without a pack, he was probably going Omega while Stiles was living it up with his pack.

“I’m sorry. I knew you really liked him. And he liked you a lot as well,” Stiles answers, running his fingers through Allison’s hair.

“Maybe I should just take a break from boys, all they seem to do is give me emotions and extra weight,” Allison mumbles.

Stiles snorts, “Does that mean I should leave then?”

“Only if you’re going to go get the Rocky Road ice cream I have in the freezer.”

Stiles throws a hand over his heart, “Rocky Road! Allison, you’re a girl after my own heart.”

“Shut up, and go get the ice cream so we can binge watch Buffy and be sad together,” she laughs, and it makes Stiles smile because he was able to make her feel better.

"One pint of Rocky Road ice-cream coming right up," Stiles says as he gets up off the bed. "You get Buffy ready and on your favourite episode, okay?"

"Okay," Allison gives a small smile as she sits up and reaches for her laptop as Stiles backs into the hallway.

Right, now to enter the battlefield below, Stiles thinks to himself as he heads towards the stairs. Please, don't let there be blood. Please don't let there be blood.

Stiles walks down the stairs with his fingers crossed, and almost immediately shivers as he can practically feel the icy and tense air between the three adults standing like they were about to duel.

Three pairs of eyes turn to him as he stops at the bottom of the steps.

"I'm here for the ice-cream?" Stiles trails off into a squeak under Mrs Argent's dangerously cold eyes.

"Chris, why don't you show Stiles where you put the ice-cream," Victoria states more than asks as her narrowed gaze turns to Peter. "I'll keep our guest entertained."

"Victoria," Chris says quietly, but Victoria throws him a sharp glance.

"Now, Chris," she says almost as sharply as her glance was.

"Afraid of leaving your husband alone with me after all these years?" Peter chuckles almost coldly as he smirks at Victoria. "You flatter me."

"I will not leave my husband alone with his beast of a whore," Victoria says coldly making Stiles gasp as he looks between a wincing Chris and a stone-faced Peter with wide-eyes. "I remember how you were like, a bitch in heat whenever he was around. I wouldn't be surprised if I left for a moment and come back to find you on your hands and knees with your ass bare, that's your favourite place to be, right?"

Peter almost flinches, and only doesn't because he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of getting at him even though her words made him remember:

"This is your favourite place to be, right?" the ghost of Robert's voice groans against his ear, and Peter has to swallow bile.

“Dude, I don’t know what the fuck happened between you guys, but could you seriously not?” Stiles snaps, mostly staring at Victoria.

The woman gives him a sharp-eyed look, “What do you know boy? More importantly why are you hanging around with a dirty dog like this man?”

She doesn’t know, Stiles tells himself as he thinks about his next choice in words.

“He’s a family friend. He used to babysit me before my mom died, and they were close. But I’m not here to fight some family feud. I’m here for Allison, your daughter who’s upstairs crying because Scott broke her heart,” Stiles clenches his jaw and marches off to the kitchen.

“I’ll uh—I’ll go show him where the ice cream is.” Chris says, before turning to follow Stiles into the kitchen.

“I hope you aren’t planning on making a move on my daughter,” Chris growls as he opens the freezer and pulls the ice cream out.

Stiles pauses at that, “Um—“

Quick. Think of something to throw them all off.

“I’m sure, Allison is really nice and a sweet girl. But um, she’s not my type.”

Chris raises an eyebrow, “Are you saying she’s ugly?”

“What! No! Nononono! Oh my god, Uh no! That’s not—it’s just—holy fuck. I’m gay!” He blurts out in a lie—well, half lie since he’s technically half gay.


“Oh god, oh shoot. Don’t tell my dad!” Stiles keeps going, feeling like a headless chicken, Victoria and Peter have entered the kitchen when they heard the commotion going on. “If he finds out I’m gay he might actually kick me out of the house, I don’t even know how to come out to him or if he’s even okay with gay people!”

He bites at his nails and makes it look like he’s on the verge of having a meltdown.

“Mr. Argent, please don’t tell my dad. I don’t want him to hate me. What-what if he kicks me out or tells me I’m a disgusting freak?!”

“Woah! Hey, kiddo, there’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Chris says, unsure how to deal with the crying teenager in his kitchen.

He glances at Peter and Victoria who both looked miffed.

"Stiles," Peter goes over to him and pulls him into a half-hug as he glares at Chris. "What did you do?"

"I-I," Chris looks vaguely terrified as he stares between Peter, Victoria and where Stiles is pretending to panic and almost cry against Peter's chest. "Here's the ice-cream?"

Stiles sniffs and pretends to wipe his eyes as he reaches out for the ice-cream, "Thanks Mr Argent," he makes sure to look worried, "you won't say anything to my dad, will you?"

"No, no, of course not," Chris says quickly, hoping to not to set off the teen again.

"Thank you," Stiles hugs Peter quickly. "I'm fine, Peter, it's okay. Mr Argent was just worried about Allison."

"Well, I'm worried about you," Peter presses a kiss against Stiles' forehead before letting Stiles go while ignoring the disgusted scoff from Victoria.

"Isn't he a bit too young for you, or are you trying to get into the Sheriff's bed through his son?" Victoria asks snidely making Stiles stiffen as he turns to her.

"Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with?" Stiles demands as he holds the ice-cream loosely.

“Did you seriously just accuse my fucking uncle that he’s sleeping with me? A minor? Even though my dad’s the fucking sheriff?” Stiles feels like a rabid animal tearing at this woman’s throat.

How dare she fucking assume the relationship he has with Peter? That’s between the both of them, and is none of her fucking upturned nose business.

“If I ever hear you make a comment about Peter ever again, I’ll tip my father about the illegal window tints you have on your cars. And maybe a few other things, I haven’t decided yet,” Stiles snarls, opening the drawer with the spoons to grab two of them and then slamming it shut.

“Stiles?” He hears Allison as she stands at the top of the banister.

“Coming! Just had to find where the spoons were at,” Stiles says cheerily, a whiplash to how he was acting earlier. “Peter, I’m going to stay with Allison for a little bit longer and probably spend two hours watching Buffy. You can go home if you want. I already texted my dad where I was at.”

"I'd rather wait around if that's alright," Peter says as he squeezes Stiles' shoulder. "I'm not overly trusting of our dear hosts, however I'll sit in the car and listen to some music."

"You sure?" Stiles asks with some worry, and Peter smiles at him.

"Go and have fun," Peter encourages him, and Stiles gives one last glance towards Mrs Argent, but heads off back upstairs as Allison calls again, and Peter turns a cold look on Mrs Argent. "Never suggest I would sleep with a minor again, as I recall, it's not my family that has a history of seducing minors."

Chris winces at the dig he believes is directed at him.

"I'll let myself out," Peter informs them. "I'd rather not deal with a knife to my back."

Peter inclines his head and leaves the house with crumbling composure, but he keeps it together enough to get in his car and lock the doors before he grips the wheel and lets out a shaky breath as he tries not remember.

It’s almost like he can feel the harsh breathing against his neck again, those hands wrapping around his throat, squeezing until he’s passing out. Peter digs his claws into his shoulders, dragging them against his skin until he feels the burn of pain.

“He’s dead. He’s dead. I swear he’s dead,” Peter tells himself, trying to calm himself down so he doesn’t wolf out in front of the house of a bunch of hunters. “I’m okay. I’m okay. I have my pup, Derek is safe. He’s mine now.”

Stiles makes his way back upstairs, kicking off his shoes and setting Derek’s jacket down where he’s sitting on Allison’s bed.

She gives him a smile before starting up the first episode to Buffy, and Stiles starts to dig into the ice cream.

But even with one of his favorite shows playing in the background, Stiles’ mind is still reeling at Victoria’s words. How could she say such cruel things to Peter?

He knew the Hale’s and Argent’s had the worst family feud going on, but the way Victoria spoke, it was with such backhanded cruelty, he didn’t know how Peter was able to stay so calm during the whole thing.

If she had been speaking to Stiles like that, he’s positive he would have turned around and snapped at her, not caring who was watching as he chewed her out.

Stiles sucks on the spoon as he stares at the screen and he can't help, but think of what Victoria said and what it implied.

Stiles dipped his spoon back into the ice-cream, briefly duelling Allison's spoon, and his next scoop of ice-cream tastes of victory.

So, Peter and Chris had a thing in the past, Stiles thinks to himself as he sucks on the spoon. And Victoria is still bitter over it? But why? Wouldn't it have been over before they were married? Unless it wasn't? Chris and Peter had an affair?

Stiles thinks to himself, tapping the spoon against his lips, and he doesn't see Peter agreeing to be the bit of stuff on the side. But then again, he didn't see what Chris had seen in Victoria.

Stiles scoops up his third scoop and savouring it as he thinks with narrowed eyes directed towards the screen.

Why would Chris marry Victoria if he was with Peter? Stiles wonders as he almost chews on his spoon. Unless he had no choice? The Argent's don't seem to be any accepting family, and the heir of the family having a gay relationship with a werewolf, yeah, that doesn't seem like something the people that produced a child-rapist and family murderer, and approve of the cold-hearted bitch that is Victoria being brought into the family wouldn't let go. So, yeah, they probably forced Victoria on him.

Well, shit, Stiles glances at Allison and decides he wouldn't be the one to tell Allison that she's the product of a probably arranged marriage.

Allison ends up falling asleep after the fourth episode, and Stiles is close to passing out himself, but he pulls himself together before he falls asleep on her bed and making things worse.

Pulling on Derek’s jacket, Stiles dumps the empty ice cream container into Allison’s trash can before leaving her room.

He creeps down the stairs, wanting to be as quiet as he can so he can put the spoons in the sink and then turns around to leave, only to freeze when he sees Chris standing in the doorway and staring at him with those steel blue eyes.


“Mr. Argent,” Stiles says like a mouse ready to run.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable early, to the point you outed yourself,” Chris says, his eyes going a little softer as he approaches Stiles.

“It’s okay—it happens—“

“No, it’s not okay. Being gay—it’s hard. You’re never sure if you’re safe around certain people and sometimes when you think you’re telling the right friend they turn their backs on you,” Chris explains, he turns his head away as if he’s remembering something. “You should never be afraid to tell the people you love, but also know if they don’t accept you for who you are then they never loved you in the first place.”

"Yeah, I'm kind of learning that," Stiles says slightly bitterly, biting his lip because he hadn't meant to say that and definitely not to Mr Argent.

There's something sympathetic to Mr Argent's face that makes him feel uncomfortable, and he looks away, "I should go, Peter's probably bored out of his skull."

"Yeah," something almost fond on Mr Argent's face as he agrees. "Goodnight, Stiles."

"Goodnight, Mr Argent," Stiles says as the older man walks him to the door.

Stiles hurries towards Peter's car and to the passenger's door as Peter pops open the locks, and Stiles slips in.

"Have fun with your friend?" Peter says quietly as he starts the car.

"Yeah," Stiles says as he watches Peter, and he bites at his thumb.

Mr Argent is probably gay, he confided in the wrong person, and is now trapped in a loveless marriage, Stiles thinks to himself as he chews on his nail. Well, shit, now I'm almost feeling sorry for him.

"What's wrong?" Peter asks as he glances over.

"I think Chris gave me it's okay to be gay talk," Stiles says after a moment.

"Huh," Peter says with some interest. "Well, I can still give you it's okay to be bi talk later then."

"I'm having more than one talk?" Stiles asks with some amusement.

"Of course," Peter says, and he glances over at Stiles. "My talk will be much better."

"Of course, Alpha," Stiles agrees easily as he slumps in his seat. "I'm going to crash when we get home, okay?"

Peter reaches out and strokes a hand over Stiles' hair, "Of course, pup."

Stiles ends up falling asleep halfway on the drive back home, which makes Peter smile.

He carries his Beta back upstairs to the apartment where Derek is still on the couch looking at college classes.

He glances up and feels his shoulders relax when he sees Peter and Stiles back home and safe.

“I’m guessing it’s time for bed?”

“Yup. Our little Beta is all tuckered out from dealing with teenage girl break ups and the Argent’s,” Peter says as he carries Stiles over to his room and lays him on the bed.

“What did the Argent’s do?” Derek flashes his eyes and has to hold himself back, so his fangs don’t pop out.

“They said more than a few unsavoury things, well, mostly Victoria did. But I wouldn’t have put it past her to pull a gun out and shoot me on sight,” Peter smirks, “I guess she still remembers I had Chris’s heart before she did.”

Derek raises his eyebrows at that but chooses not to ask any more than that, seeing how exhausted Peter already looks.

“Come on, mom. Let’s go to bed,” Derek smiles, taking his shirt off and removing his jacket from Stiles’ body to hang it up.

When both of his pups are curled around one another, Peter shifts into his Alpha form and curls up around them, nosing at Stiles’ hair and then Derek’s before letting himself sleep.

Stiles wakes up with his face buried into Derek's neck, more than half-way on the older teen, and his hips still in the middle of rutting against Derek.

Stiles freezes, his cock throbbing and trapped in his jeans that it seems he slept in, and tries to inch away from the unfairly sexy body under him and trapping himself against said sexy body with a heavy arm thrown other him, and he stares at Derek's throat as Derek breathes easy and deep with sleep.

He needs to move, he so needs to move, because his hips are actually trembling with the need to keep rutting against the warm body under him, and he bites his bottom lip as he tries to move, but Derek's arm just tightens and pulls him closer.

"Oh god," Stiles whimpers as his trapped cock rubs against Derek's body.

"You seem to be having some trouble there," Peter says from the doorway and with amusement dripping from his words.

"Peter, please for the love of everything you hold holy," Stiles hisses quietly, trying not to disturb the sleeping wolf under him. "Get me out of this before I really embarrass myself and cross a line I shouldn't."

“I don’t know, this is quiet fun to watch. Ah, I do remember the fun days of being a horny teenage boy,” The older wolf smirks.

“Fuck you, and come help me before I kill myself from embarrassment,” Stiles hisses as quietly as he can.

Peter chuckles as he comes over and helps Stiles out, immediately Stiles grabs some clothes and makes his way to the bathroom so he can die in peace. The older man cackling quietly to himself as Stiles shuts the bathroom door.

“I’ll play some music to block out the noises you make,” Peter winks.

“I’m not that loud!”

“Ah, I too remember thinking that,” Peter points at his ears, “Werewolf hearing.”

Cheeks burning red, Stiles closes the door to the bathroom before starting the shower.

Not wanting to take any chances, he pulls his phone out and blast some random playlist on medium volume before getting into the shower.

He tries to spray himself down with cold water, wants to ignoring the raging boner between his legs. But it’s no use and he finds himself biting his lips as he starts to jerk off. He tries, he tries really hard or to think about Derek but it’s worthless.

His brain immediately jumps to thoughts and images of Derek. Derek half naked, Derek naked and cuddling against him. He wants that, god does he want that so badly.

Stiles leans a shoulder against the tiles and presses an arm against the wall in the prefect place to muffle his noise as he lets him imagination run.

He thinks back to when Derek had caged him against the bed, remembers the way the older man's gaze dropped down to his lips and how he seemed to move closer before Peter interrupted.

He lets himself think of Derek caging him against the bed again, and Stiles licks his lips as he imagines Derek's gaze dropping down to them and going dark with lust.

No interruptions, just them, and Derek finally leaning down to kiss Stiles, and Stiles keeps his eyes closed as he thinks about how Derek's lips would feel against his while keeping his strokes over his cock slow, so he can truly savour these thoughts.

They look soft, Stiles thinks as he imagines Derek's lips, the feel of them against his own.

Soft lips, but firm intent behind them, Stiles imagines. He thinks Derek would take control of the kiss, a hand coming up to cup his jaw while the other keeps Derek balanced over him.

Stiles knows himself, he'd throw himself enthusiastically into the kiss, arms coming up to loop around Derek's neck as he kisses back and probably try to deep the kiss quickly.

Would Derek let him? Or would he nip at his lips in punishment and slow the kiss until Derek decides he wants to deepen it?

Suddenly his fantasy changes without his permission, and it's Derek under Stiles. It's Derek that looks slightly nervous but eager, it's Stiles that leans down and kiss him first, pressing his lips against those soft lips and having Derek almost whimper as he throws himself into the kiss.

It's Stiles lowering himself on Derek, pressing against Derek's firm body and fitting perfectly in between Derek's spread legs, it's Derek holding him almost desperately as Stiles kisses him, as Stiles keeps control of the kiss and cupping Derek's jaw, feeling the prickle of scruff under his hand.

“You’re so good, Der,” he’d say to the older man, stroking a hand over his cheeks and kissing over the scruff. “So good for me.”

He just wants to worship the man that is known as Derek Hale, wants to make him feel good and happy, whether that’s by kissing him all over, sloppy blow jobs, or fucking the man and vice versa. He wants Derek to be happy, wants to see the man smile without it being fake or caged.

Derek,” Stiles bites out into his hand as he fucks his hand harder.

He bites down a little harder when he cums all over his hand.

Breathing heavily, Stiles leans against the tile walls as he catches his breath, making a face when he sees the cum on his hands, huffing, he washes it off before grabbing the soap and starting to actually clean himself.

He just really hoped that he uses enough soap to wash out the scent of his cum, he does not want to have that conversation with either of the Hale’s.

Although, he’s pretty sure Peter is going to make a comment or two. He seems like the type to do so, and Stiles will die of embarrassment all over, he’s going to find a nice hole to die in.

“Fucking werewolves,” he mutter under his breath, hoping Peter didn’t catch that as he starts to towel off.

He looks at the clothes he had grabbed in his mad panic; black jeans not as fitted as the skinny jeans that he wore yesterday without the knowledge it left so little to the imagination and a dark green fitted t-shirt.

Stiles is pretty sure that Peter has gotten rid of all his old clothes that he brought over, and should probably content himself that the older man hadn't yet been convinced to replace his underwear because he wouldn't be pleased if Peter got rid of his Batman boxers.

Sure, they were a little thin, but that just proves how much Stiles loved them, Stiles thinks as he pulls said Batman boxers on before grabbing the jeans and thinking longingly of far more baggy and comfortable jeans he was used to before putting them on, slipping on his Batman socks—thankful that Peter hadn't said anything against his socks in his war against the rest of Stiles' wardrobe—and turns to the mirror and wiping off the fogginess with a towel so he can take himself in as he brushes his teeth.

He wipes his mouth after he's done and peers in the mirror before pulling his mother's necklace out from under the t-shirt so the silver Triskelion charm winks in the light.

Stiles gives a slightly nod of approval before flashing finger-guns at the mirror and bundling up his towels and dirty clothes to throw in the hamper before leaving the bathroom with a spring in his step that almost immediately falters as he meets Derek's gaze.

Sometime between Stiles getting out of the bed and shutting him into Peter's bathroom, Derek had obviously woken up and sat up in bed.

Any hopes that Derek hadn't heard almost immediately bursts as Derek ducks his head almost awkwardly and with some redness to his ears.

Stiles gives a strangled noise as his face flushes brightly.

"I-I'm going to go and have breakfast," Stiles manages to get out before he flees with whatever is left of his dignity.

Derek nods his head, not using his voice because he knows he’s gonna say something weird and make everything even more uncomfortable for the both of them.

Slouching only on himself, Derek covers his face with his hands before peering down at the hardon he’s sporting in his boxers.

Hearing Stiles shout his name as he jerked off was like a wet dream come true, but he felt sick to the stomach when he thought about the teenager like that.

He didn’t want to be her, didn’t want to trick and seduce some poor boy into his bed and fill him with hope.

Stiles deserved better than him, but for some ungodly reason the world decided that they should be mates.


Derek and Stiles? As mates!! No!

Stiles deserved someone who could give him what he wanted and needed, could give him that unconditional love and affection Derek couldn’t.

But Derek wasn’t a good person, as much as he knew he should let Stiles go, let him find someone and be happy with them. He just couldn’t let the teenager go, it went against his instincts to let his mate be with someone else.

But Derek was a sickness, he was damaged goods and a used toy that got its leg snapped off. He was going to corrupt Stiles somehow, he was going to hurt him.

Whether it was like what happened to him or what happened to Peter he wasn’t sure, but he knew he couldn’t let that happen. He’d tear off his own hands before hurting Stiles.

He rubs his hands roughly over his face and ignores his hardon with a surge of self-disgust as he gets out of bed, and grabs some fresh clothes.

He ignores Peter's bathroom for his own sanity, knowing he wouldn't be able to control himself in he stepped inside somewhere where the scent of Stiles' lust and cum is so strong, and moves to the main bathroom with quick strides.

He knows himself, if he stepped foot in the same shower where Stiles jerked off—jerked off to thoughts of him, Derek remembers as his wolf preens smugly—then he'll break, he'll take his cock in hand and bring himself off with the thoughts of Stiles and he can't do that.

Because Derek's greedy, because he's never satisfied with just thoughts, no, he'll prove himself just like her or his father, and he'll push and take until he ruins Stiles, until he leaves Stiles broken and shaking in fear and self-disgust, and—and..

Derek slides down the bathroom door with a ragged gasp and buries his face into his hands with a whine.

He can't do this, he can't, he's going to hurt Stiles, going to hurt him like she hurt him or like his father hurt his mom. He's going to become a ghost that Stiles can't ever run from, and he'll be worse than them because Stiles is his mate and he'll never let him go because he's greedy and a monster, and—and...

A knock to the door breaks him from his spiralling thought.

"Derek?" his mom's voice comes through the door, worried, and Derek sobs as he scrambles to open the door and then there Peter is, his mom, and Derek almost collapses against him and holds him tightly as he trembles and gasps into Peter's neck. "Oh, pup, what happened?"

Peter's hand cups the back of his neck and pulls him close, pressing his lips against the side of his head as he lets Derek shake and give gasping sobs against him for a moment.

“I’m going to hurt him. I’m going to hurt him like dad hurt you,” Derek admits, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Shaking his head, Peter closes the bathroom door, so Stiles doesn’t walk in on this. It’s a fragile moment for Derek, and if his mate saw him now it might do something even worse.

Shushing his son, Peter helps him down until they’re seated on the floor of the bathroom. He runs his fingers through Derek’s hair, and shushes the sobs coming out of his pups throat.

“No, no, you would never do anything like that, Derek. You don’t have an evil bone inside of you,” Peter tells him.

“But what if I do? What if Kate fucked me up so badly, and I am—I’m just like dad. I don’t—I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt Stiles like that.”

Peter cups Derek’s face in his hands, “Tell me, would you ever want to hurt Stiles?”

Derek shakes his head.

“Would you force yourself on him? If he gave you the slightest sign of interest, would you do it?”

“N-no!” Derek flinches at even the implication of doing something like that.

“See? You’re nothing like your father. I promise, you’re not broken, Der. And you’re not evil,” Peter presses a motherly kiss to Derek’s forehead, “You’re my sweet pup. You’re too good for this world, and even after all the shit you’ve been through you’re still trying your best.”

"But—but I want him," Derek confesses as if that negates everything Peter said, and Peter wants to rip Kate Argent to bits, wants to piss on Talia's grave after ranting at her for all the shit she put his pup through because they are the women that taught his son that it's wrong for him to want things, to want people.

"And that's normal," Peter tells him as he strokes Derek's cheek. "He's your mate, it's natural that you want him. That you want him close all the time, that you want him to smell of you, that you want to hold him tight and yes, it's perfectly normal to want him sexually. But there's a big difference between wanting someone and forcing your wants on them."

Peter presses another kiss to Derek's forehead as Derek looks at him somewhat confused, wishing again that he had grabbed Derek and ran, followed one of the plans Claudia laid out for them, but he had been too much of coward to take.

"You don't want to force yourself on him, you don't want to hurt him, and you want to get better for both yourself and him," Peter reminds him. "None of that is the sign of a monster like her or your father. They didn't care, Derek, and you do, you care so much that it hurts.

You'll never hurt Stiles in that way, could you hurt him in other ways? Yes, but even when you love someone with all your heart, you can end up hurting them by mistake and what you need to do is apologise and work to make sure it never happens again.

Stiles will probably hurt you by accident, through a thoughtless remark or something like that, he'll get frustrated and mad, and you'll argue and say things you don’t mean, but as long as you apologise and work through it? Then I know you'll both be alright," Peter pulls Derek close, lets his son rest his head against chest and over his heart, enforcing the truth of his words. "You're my sweet and kind pup, my loving pup, and wanting someone doesn't mean you'll hurt them, Der."

Nodding his head, Derek let’s his mother’s words settle something inside of him.

He’s still too afraid that he will never know the difference between wanting someone and forcing someone, Kate made sure to fuck everything inside his brain, and he’s sure Peter knows that, but Peter also thinks he’s good and can learn to better himself.

And Derek really does. He wants to be good for Stiles, wants to show him they can be together.

“I’ll make some calls today, see about find us a therapist. How does that sound, pup?” Peters keeps petting Derek’s hair in a soothing manner.

“Yes. I-I’d like that,” Derek responds.

They sit there for a while longer before Derek can finally get up and face the day.

Peter gives him another bone crushing hug, before leaving Derek to finish in the shower.

Walking into the kitchen, he finds Stiles already has his nose in a book and a piece of toast sticking out of his mouth as he focuses on the words before him.

“If you don’t finish up eating now, you’ll be starving before lunch comes around,.” Peter tells the boy, catching his attention and pulling Stiles out of his fixation.

“Huh?” Stiles glances at the clock, “Oh shit, I need to eat really quickly.”

"Don't choke," Peter tells him as he moves to make sure Stiles' lunch was in his bag and he grabs the new denim jacket with faux-fur lining and collar that he bought Stiles and places it over Stiles' backpack. "Why don't you wear this jacket today?"

Stiles glances over from where he's wolfing down breakfast and makes a sound of agreement.

"Well, at least you know not to talk with your mouth full," Peter says with a faked sigh, smiling as Stiles makes a face at him. "But really, don't choke. I would hate to tell your father that you died on my beautifully cooked breakfast."

"I see where your concern truly lies," Stiles says after swallowing, and Peter snickers as he moves over to make up a plate for Derek, putting it in the oven to warm it slightly. "Is Derek not joining us?"

"Derek isn't used to sleeping in, I believe," Peter says as he begins to clean up the pots and pans. "Also, you aren't as late as you believe, I can get you there in plenty of time."

"Without speeding?" Stiles asks sceptically, and Peter gives a dramatic gasp.

"What do you think of your darling Alpha?" Peter says in that dramatic tone of his. "To believe he'd break the law in such way. I am hurt, hurt and offended."

Stiles snorts as he reaches out for his juice, "Yeah, I can see that."

Peter gives him a smirk at the dry tone Stiles takes, and Derek enters the kitchen while still drying his hair with his towel.

"Your breakfast is in the oven, pup," Peter tells him.

"Thanks, Mom," Derek says as he moves to grab it, and it seems to finally click in Stiles' head what Derek told him last night as he chokes on his orange juice.

"Wait!" Stiles almost wheezes as he hits his chest. "Does this mean that Derek's an ass baby?"

Derek spins around to gape at Stiles in disbelief, and Peter has to brace himself against the sink as he snorts with laughter.

“You don’t freak out by the fact he’s my mom, but you freak out because I’m an ass baby?”

Stiles raises his arms in a shrugging motion, “What? I’ve read fanfiction. Male pregnancy is the least weirdest thing for me to think about.”

Peter howls with laughter at that statement, almost falling over if it weren’t for Derek standing next to him and being used as a pole.

“Oh—oh my god, that is hilarious! Ah, just what I need this morning a little pick me up,” Peter wipes away the tears that came from laughing so hard. “Yes, Derek is technically an ass baby. You’d be surprised how elastic the asshole is when it comes to giant babies.”

Stiles gives the man a look of scientific interest which has Derek glaring, “No, we are not discussing the tales about my birth.”

“You’re right,” Peter nods empathetically, before adding amusing wickedly, “It’s much more fun to show him all the baby pictures I was able to save before the fire.”

“Oh no,” Derek says.

“Oh, yes!” Stiles yells.

“He was such a cute baby, you should have seen him when his fangs started growing in,” Peter sighs at the memory, even though Derek had still thought of Talia as his mom.

His pup still came to him when his mouth was aching from the fangs pushing through his gums. Peter would get him some ice to chew on or take him out for ice cream, not caring if Talia would hit him or yell at him later on, his pup was hurting, and he couldn’t turn him away.

"Mom!" Derek looks at Peter with an embarrassed blush on his face, turning his face away from Stiles, so he wouldn't see Derek's embarrassed expression.

"You mean his baby werewolf fangs?" Stiles gives an almost cooing expression, and Peter nods, and Derek scowls at them with red cheeks as he grabs his breakfast and grumpily sits. "Aww, that's so cute."

"I'm not cute," Derek mutters darkly, stabbing at his breakfast with a scowl.

"He is, isn't he?" Peter says with such a mom expression on his face that Stiles is ashamed that he didn't realise before Derek said something. "You should see the photos I have him as toddler, he had such chubby cheeks."

"Were they pinchable?" Stiles says with a teasing grin as Derek slumps in his chair, and Peter smirks as he nods.

"The most pinchable cheeks," Peter confirms teasingly.

"I hate the both of you," Derek tells them. "So much hate."

Peter comes cover and wraps an arm around Derek's shoulder, pulling him against his side and pressing a kiss to Derek's damp hair, "I love you too, my sweet pup."

Derek flushes harder as he leans into Peter's side, almost shyly glancing up at Stiles as if waiting for Stiles to tease him.

But Stiles would never tease him about this, about having his mom and enjoying the affection his mom can bestow upon him.

Moms were sacred, moms were never to messed with or mocked about in Stiles' opinion, so Stiles just gives Derek a soft smile that seems to make Derek flush harder while also making the werewolf sit a bit straighter.

"Do you want to stay here while I drop Stiles off?" Peter asks as he lets go of Derek after one last squeeze. "I want to look into the Vault and maybe bring some stuff back, if you'd rather stay home while I do that..?"

"No," Derek shakes his head as he begins to eat his breakfast. "I'll go with you."

“Finish up your food, that goes for both of you,” Peter makes sure to point at them both, earning a smile from Stiles.

“Yes, oh great Alpha,” Stiles says in a mocking voice of some court jester.

Derek snorts and digs into the hot bowl of scrambled eggs and sausages, with a free vegetables.

Peter waits for them both patiently to finish up, Derek leaving to grab his leather jacket and frowns when he sees Stiles pulling on the denim one.

He wants his mate to smell like him, but seeing Stiles in the jacket makes his cheeks burn at the thought of Derek wearing that jacket, wearing his mate’s scent.

Wetting his lips, he puts his leather jacket and waits at the door for the other two to join him.

Before Stiles can try to sneak one of the books Peter gave him into his book bag, the older man is snatching it out of his hands and giving him a look.

“Aw, come on. Please?” Stiles claps his hands as he begs for the book.

“No, school is more important than magic at the moment. You need to keep your grades up, I won’t have you failing. Your father would shoot me, and healing from a bullet wound hurts more than you think it would,” Peter tells him as he sets the book back on the table.

Fine,” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest and walks to the door, nudging at Derek’s arms so he can loop his arm around the man and hug him.

Derek freezes for a moment at how easy it is for Stiles to give him such simple contact, but after a while he goes along with it and is wrapping his arms around Stiles’ body to give him a hug.

“You’re going to be late if you keep hugging,” Peter teases them both, swirling his keys around his finger as he watches the two of them.

"Enough scent-marking, Der?" Stiles pulls back and asks him, and Derek bites his lip before rubbing a hand over Stiles' throat before stepping back and shoving his hands in his pockets. "Okay, we're ready."

"Let's go, pups, a brand new day awaits us all," Peter says sarcastically as he herds them towards the door.

"You sound so enthused," Stiles smirks at Peter as they leave the apartment and Pete smirks back.

"I know, right?" Peter says as turns back to lock the door. "I can hardly restrain myself from jumping with joy to see what has been stored in the family Vault hidden under the school."

"Really? Under the high school?" Stiles asks in disbelief as they head towards the elevator.

"It was built before there was a high school there," Peter explains. "Though I will admit that it's a rather odd place to keep it."

He'd rather build a new vault somewhere else, the location kept in the Pack and away from Deaton's grubby hands.

Wait, I’m the Alpha, Peter realizes as he starts the car.

He’s the Hale Alpha now, meaning if he wanted to he could change where the Hale vault was kept, somewhere safe and away from normal people who could possibly stumble upon its opening, rubbing at his chin deep in thought, Peter ignores the look Derek gives him as they drive to the school, Stiles chatter in the back about classes and that sort.

Derek turns his attention back to Stiles, his lips twitching as he hears the teenager go on a rant about the oddest things, but doesn’t interrupt because he enjoys the sound of Stiles’ voice.

When they park at the front of the school again, Stiles blushes when he sees everyone watching as he gets out of the Mustang. He glances around and grins when he spots Allison waving at him from where she’s standing at the front doors to the school.

Waving back, Stiles turns to look say through the window, “I’ll see you guys after school. Bye Peter! Bye Derek!”

“Be safe!” Peter falls after him, frowning when he spots Stiles going over to hug Alison. “If that girl hurts him in anyway, I will make sure the Argent’s weep for her death. They’ll have to spend years picking up every piece and shred of her body when I’m done with her.”

Derek grunts in agreement, eyeing the teenagers who are watching his Stiles across the school yard.

His eyes narrow as he watches the ones called Lydia and Jackson head over to Stiles and pull him between them, Lydia linking their arms while Jackson wraps an arm around Stiles' shoulders and pulling him close.

"Jealousy really doesn't suit you, pup," Peter says as he pulls around to the side of the school and away from the curious eyes of the students.

"I'm not jealous," Derek huffs, and Peter's lips twitch.

"Of course not," Peter says with amusement as he parks the car. "Let's go."

Derek grumbles as he gets out of the car at the same time as Peter, Peter locking the car behind them and leading Derek to the side-entrance to the school—he'd rather keep away from the curious students.

Yes, keeping the Vault under a high school was just problematic, the amount of people that could witness them entering the vault was staggering, and it was only luck that no work had been done in the last six years and the vault hadn't been discovered.

They use their senses to avoid the crowd of students heading to their first classes and head towards the basement, and to the second entrance to the vault.

Peter makes a face at the horrible smell of dust and mould when the vault door opens up, he clicks on the lights-having to turn them on and off a few times before they finally turn on, and then makes his way into the large room, glancing around to see if anything was taken.

He hums when he sees everything is still the same since the last time he was in there, and goes over to where he knows most of the magical books are kept.

Derek glances around the room, feeling the unwelcoming atmosphere around him as he steps further into the dimly lit room.

His eyes trail over some of the bookshelves, before his eyes catch sight of a large journal sitting on a table. The book is spread open with a handmade bookmark keeping the pages marked for when whoever was reading it comes back.

Walking over, Derek glances at the pages before turning to the next. He realizes then he’s reading a records book of all the Hale’s that were born and to which parents belong to which child.

Turning the pages to the last one, Derek freezes when he sees the most recent of Hale’s, his eyes track down the family tree and pause when he sees his name.

Derek Hale, bastard child of Peter Hale and Robert Hale. Blue eyes, dark hair.

Derek swallows thickly as he stares down at the words, and it takes him a moment to realise he knows the handwriting.

It's Talia's, the woman he thought of his mother for most of his life, and she's crudely written down what she really thought of him.

He tears his gaze away, not wanting to worry his mom with his emotions, and frowns when he notices his name isn't the only name attached to Peter's.

Jackson Whittemore, bastard child of Peter Hale and Margaret Miller, adopted by David Whittemore and Celeste Whittemore. Blue eyes, dark blonde hair.

Malia Tate, bastard child of Peter Hale and Corrine, adopted by Evelyn Tate and Henry Tate. Brown eyes, dark hair.

"Mom?" Derek calls almost numbly, unable to tear his gaze away from the names of his siblings.

"Derek?" Peter looks away from the stack of books he's collecting in a box, and towards where Derek's standing, frozen, and a complicated look on his face. "What's wrong?"

Peter walks over, more focused on his son than whatever he's reading, and placing a hand on Derek's shoulder, "What's wrong?"

Derek looks at him, his chest clenching a little when he sees the worry on Peter’s face before looking back down to the paper and pointing at it.

“Look. What—you—what does this mean?” Derek shakes a little.

Glancing down at the pages, Peter reads it, and then reads it again.

He reads it so many times until each and every word is branded into his mind.

“I...I don’t remember this,” he says honestly.

Derek’s head whips around at him, “What do you mean? You don’t remember having two other kids?”

“I—“ Peter raises his hand and sets it on the back of his neck, feeling the phantom pain of claws digging into his neck, ears ringing as Talia’s words come back to haunt him.

”He’s too unstable. He doesn’t deserve these children, I’ll make sure he doesn’t remember anything.

He chokes, and his knees wobble a little as he can no longer hold himself up anymore, Derek catches him easily, and helps him to the ground.


“She took them. Just like she took you.”

"Mom?" Derek's voice is distant, like it's coming underwater as Peter pops his claws and digs them into the back of his neck, trying to unlock what Talia's taken. "Mom! Mom! Stop! You're hurting yourself!"

Where are they? Where had Talia hidden them? Where?

"Again, Peter? Why can't you stay the fuck away from other people's marriages?"

"Don't compare what Robert did to me to what I have with Maggie."

"Still proclaiming your innocence of everything? Grow up, Peter, and accept what you have done."

"Talia, please, I don't care what you think of me, but she's pregnant with my pup. Please, I'm begging you, you already took Derek, don't take this one too."


He's on his stomach again, Robert is there and pining him in place again, and Talia there, claws in the back of his neck, and he screams and bucks, and then Maggie's gone from his memory like he's never met her.

"Again?" Talia's voice sounds tired.

"What should we do this time?" Deaton asks, calm and steady like always.

"He's too unstable. He doesn't deserve these children, I'll make sure he doesn't remember anything."

Peter howls and tears his claws from his own neck, panting as tears run down his face.

“Mom! Mom!” Derek screams, yanking Peter’s hands away from his neck.

“She took them. She fucking took them!” Peter howls, his eyes burning red as he claws at his own skin. “I couldn’t protect them—they were mine and she took my pups!”

“Mom, please, you’re scaring me,” Derek cries, wrapping Peter’s hands around him so he can’t hurt himself anymore and rocking them until Peter calms down a little.

“You’ve still got me, mom. You’ve got one of your pups. I’m here. I’m safe,” Derek murmurs against the back of Peter’s neck.

“My pups....I-I barren. I’m broken. I can never—” Peter chokes on the words, remembering being held down as Deaton inject him with something to destroy the womb inside of him.

He could never have another child, there’s never going to be a possibility of that anymore.

He remembers Talia watching, calmly, as Peter thrashes and screams as Deaton destroys the part of him that brought him his pup.

He remembers later, Robert mourning that he'll not see Peter swell with his child again, but at least he'll not have to stop when Peter's too round for him to put Peter on his stomach.

He screams into Derek's shoulder as Derek holds him, and he fists his hands in Derek's jacket.


"Because you just can't keep away from him, can you? Always flaunting yourself at him, I won't put up with another bastard child from you."

"You could just have let me leave when I was pregnant."

"You're my Left Hand, I would not deal with the embarrassment of you leaving, pregnant with my husband's bastard."

His pups were taken, his pups were stolen, and he's only been able to get one pup back, the only pup he had remembered, but he has two more out there, two more not knowing him.

Mom,” Derek soothes, running his fingers through Peter’s hair until the older man begins to calm down.

The trembling body resides to simple shakes every once in a while, and the sound of sniffling can be heard interrupting the silence.

“You would have had a brother and a sister if Talia hadn’t taken my memories from me,” Peter chokes on the words, clinging to the jacket he’d given to Derek when he was thirteen and hit his growth spurt.

“I...I have a brother and a sister? And they’re...”

“They’re alive! Talia didn’t kill them, she took them away and gave them to some humans to live with. I need—I need to get my pups, I need all of them. I won’t rest until they’re safe,” Peter starts to sit up and almost falls over.

“Woah, woah, mom. Please, I just need you to stop and take a breath,” Derek holds his mother in his arms, ignoring the snarl his Alpha gives him.

“Let me go! I have to find them!” Peter growls, fighting Derek’s hold on him but he’s too weak from the emotional breakdown he just had.

“Mom, please, just—just breath with me. I promise they’re okay,” Derek tells him, not letting go until Peter has finally calmed down.

Peter holds Derek close to him with a whine, wanting his other pups close, but contenting himself with his eldest pup.

"It's going to be okay, Mom," Derek soothes as he strokes Peter's back. "We'll find them both, okay?"

"Why couldn't she have just let us go? I would have kept away from Beacon Hills, I wouldn't have returned," Peter says almost to himself, holding Derek tighter. "I would have never mentioned I was a Hale."

Was the embarrassment of her Left Hand leaving the Pack so great that she refused? Or that was the excuse because she hated him too much to let him leave, she wanted him here and where she could punish him.

Why had she always blamed him? Why couldn't she see it was Robert's fault? That Peter didn't want it, had never wanted it? Why did she choose Robert over Peter? He was her brother!

Peter sobs as he remembers Talia's disgust, remembers Deaton's indifference, remember the Pack silence, and remembers Robert's eyes all over him, his hands later.

He wants his pups, all his pups, he wants Stiles and to be back in their den and safe.

Shamefully, he wants his mate, he wants Chris.

Derek shushes Peter, holding him close and tight against his chest until the sobs have pilfered off into little whimpers.

“It’s okay mom, we’ll get your pups. We’ll get them, and Stiles, and we’ll be the happiest Pack,” Derek says, unsure if he’s telling Peter or both of them. “We’re going to be the best pack. The happiest. Because I know you love each and every one of us.”

Nodding his head, Peter squeezes around Derek a little harder, and then pulls back to wipe away the tears.

“Thank you, Derek. I-I didn’t mean to get so emotional in front of you, I’m supposed to be your Alpha. I’m supposed to be strong for you.”

Derek takes Peter’s hands in his own and squeezes them, “But you’re also my mom. And you’ve always held that higher than being the Alpha.”

“You’re right,” Peter presses a kiss to the top of Derek’s head, “We shouldn’t be so down, you just found out you have a baby brother and sister.”

He smiles, trying to hide the pain at those words.

He should have been the one to raise Jackson and Malia, not some humans who had no clue what they were getting into.

“Do you want to go home and rest? And when Stiles gets out of school we can have a pack pile?” Derek asks, trying to soothe his mother’s worry.

“That sounds nice,” Peter smiles, and then frowns. “If it weren’t for the fact Stiles is going to be studying at the Argent’s after school.”

Derek grimaces, he had forgotten about that.

"It's nice thought though," Peter strokes Derek's hair and presses another kiss to Derek's head.  "We'll do that after Stiles is finished studying."

Derek nods as he holds Peter's hand, and glances up almost wearily at the record book, "What should we do with that?"

Derek doesn't know what feel about the records book. It hurt him, it hurt his mom, but it also told him that he still has two siblings, two baby siblings that he never knew about.

Peter thins his lips as he glances up at the book, "We take it with us."

Peter glances around the vault, filled with things that their family had deemed precious enough to be stored here, and sets him jaw with determination, "We take as much as possible with us, I don't want to come back here unless it's to empty it completely."

Derek glances around and judges how much they can fit in the car, "Okay, where are the boxes?"

Peter cups Derek's face and pulls him close to press a kiss to his forehead, "Thank you, pup."

"For what?" Derek frowns in confusion, and Peter strokes his thumbs over Derek's cheekbones.

"For being here, for being you," Peter tells him as Derek flushes slightly. "I don't know how I'd cope with that if you weren't here."

“I’ll always be here for you, you’re my mom. And not only that, you were the last family member I had before finding out I have a brother and a sister,”  Derek tells him shyly, admitting to them both that he craves that need for family—for Pack.

Traveling with Laura had been...distant, they could be sitting right next to one another and it would feel like they were miles apart.

Some of it had to do with how Derek couldn’t even speak about how the fire was his—no, it was Kate’s fault.

He didn’t want to tell her the truth and ruin everything between them, but now she’s gone, and he just has his mom.

And Stiles.

“Come on, this is going to be more than one trip. So we might as well start now,” Derek says as he brings them to their feet. “What should we start with?”

“The books, and then everything else. We’ll do it until every last piece of the Hale’s is gone from this place.”

Nodding his head, Derek squeezes Peter’s shoulder before giving him a smile and then walking over to the books to get started on the moving.

Smiling at his son, Peter takes a moment to breath before coming over to help his son with moving everything.

It’s going to take some time, but if he has to spend all day in this crypt destroying everything Talia worked on, he will.