Chapter Text
Rifling through his duffle and backpack Stiles realises it's probably time to swap out some of his clothes from the jeep again, there's only so many combinations of his three shirts, pair of jeans, and two plaids that he can make after all. Fashion, thou art a heartless mistress.
He looks from the pile of clothes to the closet, considering. Surely he can leave these few shirts up here for now?
He walks over with the stack, walks back. No, he should take them back down to the jeep, he knows himself, he knows he'll get entirely too comfortable, too attached.
Would that be such a bad thing? He takes a few steps back toward the closet, changes his mind again. Ugh. Enough of this, his things go downstairs in his jeep, he's maintaining these boundaries for his own good he tells himself firmly.
"Okay, different plaid, swap out the jeans, two new shirts," he looks down at himself thinking a moment, ah right, "underwear, socks."
Running over the list in his head over and over so he wont forget anything, jeans socks two shirts underwear plaid, jeans socks two shirts underwear plaid, jeans two socks underwear plaid, he almost bumps into Peter in the hallway.
"Shi-oot, shoot, sorry." He smiles, but Peter isn't looking at him, instead warily eyeing the duffle Stiles has slung over his shoulder. "I'm just swapping my clothes out."
"You know you can bring your stuff up here, I'm sure there's plenty of room for it all in the closet if you're not ready to unpack, it's at least the size of the jeep." He says it very... not pointedly, but it feels like he's speaking very precisely, carefully.
"It's fine, I don't want to have to lug it all down again," Stiles says waving off the oddness of the moment. Or maybe, "unless you need your garage space back? I can find somewhere else to park the jeep, I really don't think anyone would steal anything from it."
Peter looks at him, eyes ever so slightly narrowed and a tension around his mouth that suggests he'd grimace if it weren't too likely to give away whatever it is he's internally debating himself over.
"Ooooor not?" He adds, eyebrow raising after a few moments of silence, "you can just... let me know what you decide when you're done standing silently in the hallway?"
That does get a small smile out of Peter, followed by a soft huff.
"I have something I wanted to show you, I was waiting for it to be properly finalised, because I didn't want to add any extra stress or anxiety onto your plate." He looks Stiles over, assessing as always, so Stiles attempts to look much calmer than he currently feels. Moot point with all the werewolf senses, but if Peter didn't want him to panic he probably shouldn't have led with such a stress and anxiety inducing sentence. "Ah, that wasn't too helpful was it, how about you go sit on the couch, I'll just grab something from my desk and be right with you."
"Yeah, sure, no problem." Stiles says going to sit on the couch, perfectly calm in spite of his lying heartbeat. So if it could stop the whole attempting to escape his ribcage thing now he'd appreciate it, thank you very much.
Peter appears in the living room almost immediately, looking strangely nervous and hovering next to the couch rather than joining him on it. It does nothing for Stiles' own nerves.
"Earlier, if you recall, I asked if you'd allow me to take care of things, with your father." Peter starts, more stiltedly than Stiles has ever heard him, "you said I could."
"I did," Stiles agrees apprehensively, this whole sitting standing thing really isn't working for him. "Can you just- sit and calm down or something, you're freaking me out."
"I'm perfectly calm-"
"Then tell that to your face." Stiles points out, hand raising to flail in said face's direction.
"I-" Peter chuckles, shaking his head with a bewildered grin, "perhaps I am a touch nervous."
He sits, which helps, and pushes a folder across the cushions he's left between them, hand not leaving it even when Stiles attempts to take it.
"Alright, let's try this again, shall we?" Peter clears his throat, shifts a little in his seat. "I asked you if I could take care of it, help with the issues the Sheriff caused, that could arise with school and medical needs, and housing, and so on."
He taps onto the folder, pushing it the rest of the way to Stiles and letting go almost reluctantly.
"Yesterday, I... got all my ducks in a row, so to speak." He's becoming timid again, and it's so unlike the confidence he always exudes that Stiles is more curious than worried now. Okay he's still worried, but he doesn't feel like he has to be ready to bolt at a moments notice anymore, at least.
Stiles picks up the folder, not opening it yet, just taking the time to look at Peter.
"And it's got you all," he gestures in Peter's general direction, "because?"
"It has, perhaps, occurred to me at this moment that you may have preferred someone else, or that I could have done this differently." He winces, "I can still get things changed if you wish, I only sent the paperwork off last night, there is time."
Someone else he said, which probably means... guardianship? He could have gotten, but then his father would have to- unless he? Stiles feels like his brain is stuttering, he doesn't want to get his hopes up or jump to conclusions. He's almost scared to open the folder now, but it's the only way to find out.
"Okay, alright, how about I open this and put us both out of our misery? And then if I have questions I'll ask them, sound good? Good." Peter nods, so Stiles opens the folder, the word 'Adoption' blaring up at him in bold letters, sending his mind reeling, because just. How?
Stiles starts leafing through the papers, noting his dads signature right there on every line, adoption agreement, guardianship, relinquishing of parental rights, and on and on. He closes the folder, pulls it to his chest, Peter's signature on the adoption paper burned into the backs of his eyelids every time he blinks.
"Are these real?" He asks, voice hoarse with emotion, because he has to ask, has to be sure. Hes struck suddenly by exactly how much he wants this, these last two weeks have been the best he's had in years and he doesn't want to give it up for anything. "You can't just forge a signature on this sort of thing and call it a day you know."
"I'm sure I could if it came down to it, but no, it's all above board and official." Peter says, seeming more confident after Stiles' reaction, "avoiding a court case though, in this instance, is a useful perk of the supernatural community when it comes to adoption. In a few days it will be official and legal."
"So, what does this mean, exactly?" Because it could mean a lot of things, it could mean he gets to live here with Peter until he finds his own place, it could mean Peter will just take care of the administrative side of things so Stiles can stay in town. Or, it could mean that Peter wants Stiles to stay.
"I'm not expecting anything, Stiles, it can mean whatever you'd like it to mean. If you don't want to stay here I won't-"
"Tell me what you wanted to happen when you filed the papers." Peter's lips purse, still reluctant, so Stiles adds, "Ignoring the Sheriff thing for a moment, when have you ever known me to do something I didn't want to do?"
"I was hoping you'd stay," Peter admits, and it feels like trust, like he trusts Stiles to make his own choices, "that you'd want to stay, I should say, but if you don't want that I-"
"I'm going to keep interrupting you every time you try to reassure me I have a choice, because I know you, so I know I do." Stiles says pointedly, because it feels like Peter's roundabout way of being self depreciating, to continually insist that Stiles would want to be somewhere else, that somehow Peter is unsuitable even though he's been the only one to show he wants to be.
Before he'd seen these papers, before he'd seen Peter's signature right on the dotted line saying he wants to adopt him, Stiles would have taken it poorly, he's able to admit that about himself. He can still feel the stirrings of that little voice in his head fighting to tell him Peter wants him to go, that he's gently trying to get Stiles out of his house by repeatedly mentioning he doesn't have to stay, that Peter will find him somewhere else if he wants is just a prompt to go and get out of Peter's hair.
Except Peter's adopting him. He doesn't have to go nearly far and Stiles knows it, he could have gotten guardianship and called it a day if he wanted to help with the Sheriff. He could have done nothing and Stiles would have moved out as soon as he was healed up enough even if it meant sleeping in his jeep until he found a more conventional job and a place he could afford.
But no, for once Stiles is going to make the choice he desperately wants to make and not the one that stupid little voice is telling him he should. Peter wants him here, he tells himself, clutching the folder that bit tighter.
Peter wants him here.
Peter who's looking at him as if this is important, like he really doesn't want to get this wrong, and Stiles just. Peter wants him here, and when was the last time he felt like he was wanted around in his own home, when he wasn't tiptoeing around the Sheriff's schedule and hiding in his room pretending he didn't exist, making food and cleaning and keeping out of sight light a ghost haunting the walls. When was the last time he even felt like he had a father? He can't examine that thought too closely yet, he's getting too far ahead of himself, it hasn't been a full two weeks since he left but it feels- he feels so-
"Stiles I want you to stay, I want you to live here, and call this your home without shying away mid word, I want you to unpack your jeep and know you belong here." Peter reaches out, wipes Stiles cheek where tears are rudely escaping him, before pulling back "perhaps it is selfish of me-"
"Peter,"
"No, let me finish, it almost feels as if I'm taking advantage of a horrible situation you've been put in, and that does worry me, it will always worry me. What I want here isn't important."
"It is to me. Nobody just- the last person who wanted- before my mother died, before she was sick even, because after she was she- things were... I don't want to talk about that but, you aren't manipulating me or taking advantage of me by sincerely showing me I have better options. You don't have an ulterior motive, you aren't as slick as you think you are when you do, you've always given me a choice. Even before, you gave me a choice." Stiles lightly punches the knee Peter has up on the couch, "you aren't the big bad wolf in this story Peter so stop villainising yourself."
"You're the one that's upset Stiles, I should be comforting you here."
"I'm not upset I'm happy," he stresses, because he is, sad memories crowding the edges aside this is so overwhelmingly wonderful. Peter wants him here. He smiles, "you want me here."
"Yes, I want you here." Peter smiles in return, and it's so soft, and unguarded, and, and big bad wolf my ass, Stiles thinks. He finally makes himself release his death grip on the folder, to put it back on the couch and push it toward Peter.
"Congratulations, it's a boy," he chirps, Peter rolling his eyes fondly, fondly, as he reaches out to take it, but Stiles can't make himself let go. "Actually wait, these are mine now, I, yeah you can print a new copy, no takebacks."
"Alright, you can keep those, the originals are off with my lawyer, they'll be filed as soon as possible, and an in the know judge up in Sacramento will take care of it." The curl in Peter's smile turns indulgent and he stands, a hand trailing on Stiles shoulder up to ruffle his hair, "in the mean time, what do you think about finally unpacking that jeep of yours? Or we can always paint first, if you'd prefer?"
And Stiles isn't stupid okay, he might not have a werewolf nose but recently dried paint isn't exactly a hard smell to pick up on. He knows Peter had painted the room not too long before he invited Stiles to stay, a soft mauve-ish purple that complemented all of the dark red toned wood in the room without making it feel small. His room- and he can call it that now even if only in his own head for the time being- feels safe and comforting, it's lovely and Peter clearly thought he would like it, and he does.
"You picked a good colour, I like it how it is, but I- we can unpack some things, yeah." Peter notices his slight hesitation and pins him with a look, Stiles huffs a sigh, "my ribs are not playing nice after being at school today, and I made you a promise that I wouldn't overdo it, so I'm trying to keep it."
"Quite right, no heavy boxes for you until you're healed, even without enhanced strength on my side I'm sure I could have the jeep emptied out in no time by myself." He studies Stiles' expression a moment, "why don't you call Jackson over to help? We can order a pizza after we're done."
"You've got yourself a deal," how Peter can know him so well in such a short amount of time is mindblowing, but Stiles finds himself grateful for it, not wanting to sit around and watch Peter do all the heavy lifting by himself. Fishing out his phone Stiles grabs the duffle off the floor where he'd left it, taking it and the folder back to his room while he shoots a text off to Jackson.
'Hey Jax wanna come over so I can borrow your muscles? There's a pizza in it for you.'
Jackson is probably the only other person he feels comfortable seeing him so vulnerable right now. He's been handily ignoring the fact that his entire life is stuffed into his jeep, and taking it all out and shoving it in his room isn't going to let him hide behind out of sight out of mind much longer. Though he thinks he's probably better equipped to deal with it now, without all the uncertainty clouding his thoughts.
'You just want a chance to ogle my bulging biceps'
'No olives on the pizza'
Smiling to himself Stiles stashes away his things, ordering pizza for the three of them. Three pizzas, actually, because he's learnt by now that were-creatures have ridiculous appetites, and he's a growing teenage boy himself.
When Jackson arrives they head down to the jeep, and Stiles tries to swallow down the tension that takes hold of him watching the garage door open and reveal his jeep innocently sitting there, full of everything he owns.
"So, you want me to take my shirt off while we do this or..." Jackson says, drawing out the word as he plays at lifting the hem of his shirt. Stiles just shakes his head at him, a half surpressed smile stealing it's way across his face. "No? Damn, I knew I should have taken the time to find a tank top, guess you'll just have to drool over my muscles another day."
"You're an ass," Stiles says pulling out his keys, no time like the present, right? Though he does feel significantly less on edge. Opening up the back of the jeep he picks a few boxes at random and points the others toward them. "Alright, just... stack them on the floor in my room I guess?"
Jackson looks from the boxes, to Peter, to the boxes again, competitive face out in full force.
"I could take more than you in a single trip." He says, confidently.
"And it's very cute that you think that," Peter replies, amused, and it's so... silly, just messing around and keeping things lighthearted, that Stiles can't summon up the discomfort of before.
"Guys there's less than ten boxes in here and a couple bags, it's a jeep not a tardis." They both turn to look at him in unison, Jackson looking offended and Peter contemplative, as if he'd issued a challenge. "No. No we are not doing this in one trip, you're going to drop my things everywhere, none of the boxes are even taped."
"It'll be fine," Jackson says, enthused, Stiles can only grimace.
"Okay, fine, just leave the stuff on the front seat alone," he's not risking his mother's things for their shenanigans, anything else will at least be fun to watch, "you break something and you're buying me a new one."
"Deal," they pull everything from the car, unfortunately without the extra box there's an odd number, so the contest is quickly abandoned, but watching them stack and divvy everything out as if it's all very serious business is it's own sort of fun.
In the end they both take a stack of boxes, Jackson with three and Peter with four, bags over each elbow to complete the load. They can't quite see where they're walking, mostly relying on their other senses, and hey this might be good as a training exercise, balance, strength, relying on their senses, all that good stuff. Stiles grabs the box of his mother's things, it's not like they have any hands to stop him and it's not that heavy, locking up the jeep and garage before sedately walking behind Jackson and Peter while they bicker.
"Elevator's coming up." He points out, hearing a curse, he can't wait to see how Peter fits his stack through the low doorway. "Need me to press the button for you?"
"No," Jackson says immediately, turning his head to face Stiles and cursing again when his stack slides slightly off balance. "You don't have to look so smug about it."
"Oh no I do actually, this is great, really riveting stuff, you're both very strong and not struggling at all." Stiles says with as much condescention as he can manage, Jackson only scowls.
Watching Peter crouch walk his way into the elevator is just a cherry on top.
They make it back to the apartment, eventually, and get all of his things set down in his room, the doorbell ringing moments later when the pizza is delivered. It's a shame they didn't have to share the elevator with the delivery boy.
Sitting around the table and sharing their food Stiles doesn't think about the boxes sitting in his room, or the Sheriff signing him away, he doesn't think about Scott becoming unanchored, or Grandpa Argent running around, or the dozens of other problems looming on the horizon.
Instead Stiles thinks about what a nice afternoon this has been, about Peter and Jackson letting themselves look completely ridiculous just to cheer him up, about how Peter wants him here, and Jasckson claims him unequivocally as pack. Stiles looks at the three of them sitting together, content with the feeling of family that surrounds him. It feels like coming home.
"So," Jackson says around a mouthful of pizza, "finally unpacking, does that mean you're accepting that your stuck with us? In the bougie part of town and everything, for shame."
Stiles grins, heart feeling light.
"Yeah, I guess I am." He says, not feeling stuck at all.