Chapter Text
Garrison Meyers is a far more pleasurable kill than Harris had ever hoped to be.
Oh, he’s easy enough. But he runs. He fights. He makes them work for it, at least a little. Genim keeps the man’s path from straying too far into a place he would hurt himself before Peter can get to him, and once Peter does his last burst of energy is incredibly satisfying.
Still in his wolf form, Peter lets Genim sweet talk him into finding a stream to wash away the mess, insisting that having a trail of wolf paw prints and blood leading to a source of water would be the most ‘wild animal attack’ evidence the authorities would ever need to not loop this back onto a murder investigation. Peter just wanted an excuse to get Genim’s hands on him again.
“It’s not like I haven’t been cleaning up your messes for…” Genim snaps his mouth shut so hard its audible. Instead of continuing that line of thought, he grabs a few rocks from the edge of the stream and grips them tightly before tossing them into the water. The moment they slip under the surface steam begins pouring through the air, warming the harsh January chill in an instant.
Peter isn’t surprised in the slightest when he steps into the flow of water downstream of the magic imbued rocks and finds it muscle relaxingly hot.
He immediately drops to his belly, letting the water pour over and around him so just the curve of his spine, the tip of his tail, and his head are out of the water. Though Genim rolls his eyes, he strips out of his pants and coat, rolls his sleeves up - showing off delicious forearms - then comes to join Peter, settling in on his knees to start running his hands through wet fur.
The water runs red for a long time, Genim muttering about clumps and viscera and woolen socks of all things. It isn’t until the stream is clear once more and he is running his fingers through thick, damp fur that his idle monologuing thoughts turn serious.
“Sunday morning we’re going to have visitors in the loft,” he says, pulling Peter from his half sleep state Genim’s hands had put him in. He lifts and tilts his head, a silent request to continue. “I didn’t think they would trust me this fas… okay, well, they absolutely don’t trust me of course. More like they are desperate for answers and I claim to have them and might have shown a little teensy tiny bit of proof I was different to try and entice them and wow that makes me sound like a guy in a white van with candy. But regardless, the Stiles kid is brilliant, not gonna lie, so he’s suspicious as hell but they’ll come. And Scott is going to be an ass but honestly he’s not the one you need to convince first. If you can get Stiles on board, you’ll get Scott eventually. What you need to make sure you don’t do is try and pull off any of that intimidation bullshit. Don’t lie to them. Don’t manipulate them.”
Peter huffs
“I fucking mean it, Peter Hale. They deserve more than half truths, lies of omission, and cryptic bullshit that will just lead them to make their own shitty ass decisions.”
Peter pulls back from Genim just enough to have space to draw himself up to stand at his full wolf sized height, stares his mate in the eyes, and shakes his entire body.
“Son of a bitch!”
Water sprays everywhere . Genim had managed to keep his clothing dry save a few drops here and there and the end of one rolled up sleeve. But by the time Peter is done the man is soaked from head to toe. Then, for good measure, Peter dips himself back into the water, stands back up and does it again.
“Don’t you fucking… Peter!”
He shifts as he steps forward, looming over Genim until his mate falls back onto his ass in the water, propped up on his hands while Peter is fully naked - human - on his own hands in knees over the slightly smaller body. When he drags his nose up the long column of Genim’s neck, the other man makes a delicious noise of want, but pulls away just before Peter can try and claim his lips in a kiss.
“I’m not fucking you in the woods.”
“Good thing I’m the one that does the fucking, then,” Peter responds darkly. But as playful as his actions are - and as willing for a good romp as he always is, he can’t let what Genim had said just go by without his own input.
“And,” he says, not hiding the bite in his words, “if memory serves, I am also the one who is actually the werewolf here. The alpha. And I don’t need you to tell me how to run my pack.”
Genim rolls his eyes. It makes him look childish. “I’m not telling you how to run your pack, I’m telling you how to keep it from falling apart before it even gets started.”
A sudden realization settles like an anvil in Peter’s gut. He hates it. Hates the hurt it causes him. The pain. He was never supposed to feel like this again… No one was ever supposed to get close enough for it to hurt like this again.
“You don’t trust me.”
Most of all, he hates how broken he sounds when he says it out loud.
There’s a storm of noise filling his head, tsunami waves crashing against his skull the longer Genim doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t say anything. Which is more of an affirmative than anything else could hope to be, especially from him. Peter can’t stay there any longer, can’t look into those eyes that he’s been falling into since the moment he woke up and found him at his bed. So he stands up, still naked as the day he was born, and walks away, ignoring the shouts and curses from Genim that echo into the chill of the night.
Ignoring how his mate doesn’t even bother to follow.
They have a list.
They have a plan.
Peter doesn’t care much about the plan at the moment. Doesn’t give two shits that they are supposed to be making it appear, to mundanes, as a random series of bad luck events. Laura was officially a wild animal attack. Peter’s nurse was a suspicious accident in her home - still open, but not hopeful. Harris hasn’t been found yet, but he’s already being picked apart by scavengers. Myers will also be a wild animal attack. Leveque is next, and Genim wants to make it look like an actual, honest to god accident. Reddick and Unger they haven’t decided on yet, other than to wait for the chaos (and obvious links to all the victims) to draw out Kate Argent so they can use them to send an even stronger message.
But Peter doesn’t want to wait. He doesn’t want to plan, or worry about his alibi or evidence. He’s here, now, still alive, so he can get revenge for his family and nothing and no one is going to stop him.
And he wants to make them suffer.
He finds Leveque leaving his ratty apartment mid morning and stalks him from the shadows on all fours. When he passes an alley way Peter is there, growling from the dark. When he takes a piss, Peter drags his claws against the metal stall doors. He follows, and he terrifies, and he makes absolutely certain the bastard knows that someone is coming for him. Someone dangerous. Deadly.
This one will not be able to be labeled as an accident. Or a wild animal attack. There will be no mistaking the cold, calculated slices through the man’s skin, the way he was tortured, how his death in his own miserable apartment was dragged out as long as it could have possibly been.
How the spiral was carved into his gut.
As much as it needed to happen, as much as the man’s death was inevitable, Peter can’t help but feeling off after. When he breaks into an empty house miles away and sits under the spray of water as hot as it will go it isn’t the death he regrets, or the way he killed the man, or even that he strayed from their carefully discussed plans.
It’s the loss of control. That he let the rage and confusion that is now his permanent companion win out because he had his fucking feelings hurt.
Of course Genim doesn’t trust him. That should never have been in question. Setting aside the fact that Peter isn’t fucking trustworthy the man hasn’t even shared his full name. He should have known and accepted from the beginning that no matter what their bond says about how perfect they are for each other, how they are meant to be at a cellular level, Peter is still a vicious, cold, calculating killer.
And he always has been.
That part isn’t new. The deception, the drive for power. It’s always been a part of who he is. But that need has always been for one purpose, to protect himself and those that belong to him. And he has always, always , been in control every step of the way.
Their plan - Genim’s plan - is a good one. A safe one that gets Peter what he needs and not only ensures their mutual survival, but that the authorities won't be sniffing around.
Well, too much, anyway.
Peter groans, punching the tile shower wall in frustration, watching the cracks spider web out, knowing what he has to do.
He has to go back to his mate.
Not that there was ever any real doubt, of course. He won't apologize for leaving, he won't apologize for what he did here tonight, and he sure as hell won't demand an apology from Genim. There isn't a chance in hell the man would offer one up, regardless.
They're a lot alike, that way.
“If it's not you, Mr. Wayne, then are you going to at least tell us who the hell it is?”
Peter, in fresh - if stolen - dark denims, a deep maroon button up and a long wool coat slides the large metal door to the loft they're still squatting in and gives the two teenagers and his mate a wide, toothy smirk.
“That would be me, Scott.”
He does love making an entrance.
Both teenagers reel back in shock, his beta much more calm and collected (externally, anyway) than the other one who nearly trips over his own feet and throws his arm out in a desperate attempt to keep his balance. Genim doesn't even react, as if he'd known Peter would do this and even timed it himself. Honestly, Peter wouldn't put it past him.
“My name is Peter Hale,” he says coolly as he strides forward towards the two of them, circling with slow, easy steps. A predator, at heart. “I am, as I'm certain you have discerned from your friend here and conversations with my lovely nephew, an Alpha. Your Alpha, as it happens, Scott.”
As he moves he subtlety scents them both. Scott smells of sandalwood and something herbal, like rosemary and sage. The smaller one is…
Apples. Cinnamon. Citrus.
Peter hides his sudden confusion by snapping his gaze over to Genim with a single raised eyebrow and a soft snort of teasing derision.
“And you, Mr. Wayne. Am I to call you Bruce now?”
“Only in the bedroom, Pookie, and only if you behave.” He's standing a touch higher than the rest of them on the steps toward the door. His arms are crossed but he looks relaxed as always, staring down at Peter with a softness in his gaze Peter knows beyond a shadow of a doubt he doesn't deserve.
But he isn't going to turn away from.
“Woah, are you two …” Stiles, the one that smells almost like his mate, the scent he now realizes had actually picked up on in the preserve that night, is staring at them slack jawed. And aroused.
“Yes. We are fucking. Excellent observational skills….” Peter gestures towards the boy with movement that is a clear indication he expects something from him.
He doesn't disappoint.
“St … Stiles, Mr. Hale.”
Genim snorts.
Scott, however, has had enough. He groans in frustration and steps forward to be the center of attention.
“I don't care who is doing what with who or whatever you two are doing. I just care about the fact that you BIT me and I didn't want it! I still don't want it. This is…. You've ruined my life! You have to take it back!”
“I'm afraid that is not possible,” Peter informs him with a level stare. “Once turned, there is no going back. You survived the bite, you are now a werewolf, with all the pros and cons that go along with that.” He steps around them and towards the window, hands clasped behind his back. “You already know the powers you've gained, your vision, hearing, your strength, your health, your sense of smell, your healing. From what I've heard you've also had run-ins with some of the negative side effects … hunters. Anger. Lack of control. The need for secrecy.”
“Phenomenal cosmic powers…” Genim says.
And then the same voice, from the other side of the room, finishes the line…. “Iiiiidy biddy living space.”
Peter looks over his shoulder, peering between the two and wary of making too many comparisons for what he might discover.
It's a problem for another time.
“Why would you do this to me? I never wanted it and if I….”
“He's a wolf, man.” Stiles starts and Genim snorts again. Even Peter smirks at the unintentional joke. But then Stiles keeps going. “Wolves need packs. They hunt in packs. Right? That's why? He needed someone to join him in the hunt?”
Instead of addressing Peter, Stiles looks towards Genim for confirmation.
“Correct. He did.”
“But I don't want to help! I don't want to hunt and I'm not gonna help you kill anyone!”
“Wait. Wait, Scott. Mr. Wayne said ‘did.’”
“Clever boy,” Peter says. “When I bit you,” he turns fully to Scott, “I will - begrudgingly - admit, I was quite desperate. I needed a Beta, a member of my pack, to help strengthen and stabilize me. To work towards my goals at my side. Lucky you, Batman over here showed up to lend his hand before I had to try and convince you that my way was the only way.”
“So what, you're just gonna leave me alone now? Let me go about my life?”
“Not a chance,” Genim says with a sad shake of his head. “You don't have to do things you don't want to, you don't have to hurt strangers, family, friends, anything like that. But Peter isn't the only one who is stronger with a pack. So are you. In fact, you need one. More importantly, you need to be trained on how to control yourself. Keep yourself under the radar.”
“Alternatively, he could have just never bit me in the first place!”
“God, Scott!” Stiles throws his hands in the air and then gives his friend a shove that doesn't actually accomplish anything. “Would you just listen to them, please? It's not like we can hop back in time and make it not happen. So now we gotta deal with it. Move forward, you know?”
For the first time since meeting the man, Peter watches Genim flinch.
It's such a small movement it's almost imperceptible, but it happens. There's no change in his scent and only the briefest moment of an accelerated heartbeat. Peter adds it to the list of questions to ask the man once this is all settled. The list is getting longer than he expected, but he needs him at his side and can't push too much yet.
There are a few theories percolating in his head, each more outlandish and unlikely than the last. But they cannot afford the distraction right now.
“I'm still not convinced we even need them. I mean, I think I've been doing okay on my own, you know? Stiles has been helping me with control and….”
Genim interrupts him with a single raised hand and it says something about how much he's earned the kids respect in the short time he's been teaching that they both give him their full attention.
“Stiles, did you bring your jeep?”
The kid nods.
“Good. Because we are going on a field trip.”
The teenagers both look back to Peter for a moment - and he appreciates the deference to his authority, even as tentative as it is with them - and he simply nods.
Even if he has no idea what the man has planned.
Peter’s heart may just explode out of his chest.
“You don't have to come in with us.” Genim says softly once the boys have gotten out of the vehicle.
The cool mask of indifference is firmly in place and despite his twisting knotted insides Peter refuses to let anything going on in his head show. Not now. Not ever.
Not here.
“What could possibly keep me from going into my own home?” he says flippantly.
The Hale house looms above them, charred and rotten, a hollow shell of what it once was. What it stood for. He hadn't ever intended to return here if it could have been avoided, and he sure as hell hadn't expected it to look like it does. When he thinks about it though, it's a rather apt representation of what was left of their pack once Kate Argent was done with it.
He gets out of the Jeep himself and takes a few forced steps forward, hands in his pockets and wondering if he will be able to see the evidence of their devastation. The claw marks in the stone of the basement. The structure the children had built to try and hide from the flames.
Will their ghosts still be present?
Lost in his own musing Peter almost misses the way Genim comes to stand before him until he's right there, in his space and raising his hands to gently hold Peter's face between them and guide him to meet his gaze. His amber eyes are focused and nearly burning in their intensity, drawing Peter in ever deeper each time he takes more than a fleeting glance.
“Peter,” he says softly. “The line that separates what I trust you with and what I don't is drawn in ash. I know what happened in there. I know what happened to you. Just because I don't trust you not to lie when you feel the need to, or fly off the handle and kill someone who we haven't discussed before and without telling me doesn't mean I don't…” he pauses, taking a shaky breath and then continues, giving the distinct impression he was about to say something else. “Doesn't mean I don't understand. That I'm going to be anywhere but at your side, supporting you. Capiche?”
Something physically cracks in Peter's chest at his mate’s declaration, emotions he's kept buried and hidden his entire life bursting free and unable to fit back where they had once been safely kept. The only way to hide them, to prevent anything from showing on his face or in his body language is to grab Genim by the waist and pull him in with a sharp tug, kissing him deeply. It's the first time they've ever done this with both of them fully clothed and no intention of it leading to sex, which is probably why Genim is clearly shocked for a moment before absolutely melting against him and embracing the moment with his entire being. If there was a heaven, and if Peter had any hope of finding it one day, in Genim's arms is what it must feel like.
From the house, an honest to God wolf whistle breaks through the moment. Genim laughs and drops his head against Peter’s shoulder at Stiles' antics while Peter holds him tighter and rolls his eyes.
“One day you will explain your connection to that boy.”
Genim doesn't even bother looking guilty. He just nods, and then gestures towards the house. “Coming in?”
“I should walk the perimeter, keep guard. We don't want hunters thinking this is a good place to look for us and being right.”
They both know it's an out, but Genim doesn't call him out on it. Instead he simply nods, and pulls away with one last kiss to give the grand tour of the destructive capabilities of fear and abject hatred.
Peter keeps half his hearing focused on what Genim is telling the boys, about how packs function, how they're made up of all sorts and all ages. How they are usually family, but don't have to be. How Scott and Stiles were a ready made pack the moment Scott was bitten. That part is unexpected, but Peter can't be too surprised by it. He remembers looking at the bond with his new beta the night he created it, how it had blue lines reaching out….
But hadn't they been seeking out another?
Genim's voice fades into the background as Peter finds himself actually stepping onto the front porch, his body moving without him realizing what he's doing until he's standing in what was once a warm, cozy living room. It had been so full of life. There were three full sized couches. Dozens of pillows and blankets strewn about the place. The little ones had a craft table in the corner, and a bench seat that doubled as their toy box under the window.
When he lifts the lid it creaks just like it has for years.
Are you ever going to put oil on that thing? Peter had asked of Greg, his brother-in-law, more than once.
Greg, more laid back and gentle than anyone Peter had ever met in his life, had laughed and shook his head. If I stop it from making noise, then I can't catch them when they're sneaking around doing things they aren't supposed to. It's why I haven't replaced the third step from the second landing, either.
A stuffed wolf, Piper , sits on top of all the rest of the molding, half melted toys. It had been Thomas’ favorite. His constant companion. But when he turned five, he had gotten it into his head that he was too old for stuffies. That stuffies were for babies and big kids didn't need things to cuddle to sleep. So he had put it in the box, and marched up the stairs with tears in his eyes.
There are still dishes in the sink from his birthday party, left there by the adults too worn out to do anything except worry about it in the morning that never came.
Thomas had sobbed for Piper until he no longer had a voice to do so.
Peter brings the toy up to his face and gently inhales, desperate to remember the scent of grass and leather, the hint of milk that always followed the babies around.
All he smells is smoke and ash.
The rumble of Derek's car snaps Peter out of his near catatonic state and he quickly gets to his feet, letting the bench seat close with a loud snap. The voices still filtering up from below pause at the sound for the briefest of moments before continuing on as if nothing had happened. By the time Derek has parked and is walking toward the house Peter has set Piper down gently and is standing in the front doorway with his arms crossed, leaning casually against the frame. He's not surprised Derek glares first at the jeep and then at Peter, but he does frown at the bite in the beta's words.
“What are you doing here?”
“I should ask the same of you, Derek. Though,” he pauses and takes a slow, deep breath. “It appears you have been here quite often lately. Are you sleeping here? On the bones of our family? That can't be healthy.” Peter tuts.
“I doubt it's any better or worse than slaughtering people and leaving them out in the open with the same marks that lured Laura here .” His own anger is clear in not just his voice and scent but every single inch of his body, coiled tight and ready to snap. “You know I’m still their prime suspect, right? That now they're treating you as a missing person - presumed dead - after whatever stunt you pulled to get out of the long term care ward?”
“I would apologize that getting revenge for what happened to our family is proving to be inconvenient for you, Derek, except I'm not actually sorry.”
“Of course you're not. You're not sorry for this and you're not sorry for Laura. All that matters is that you get what you want and fuck everyone else.” They're standing face to face now, Derek trying and failing to be intimidating while Peter doesn't react in the slightest, still leaning against the door frame. “And now, you've let strangers just wander around our home as if they have any right.”
“This?” Peter scoffs, gesturing around them. “This isn't a home, Derek. It's a mass grave.”
Finally, he pulls himself upright and looms over his nephew, getting into his space and pressing a single, firm finger against his chest as he speaks with a low, dark growl underlining his words. “And don't even start with that bullshit after you brought an Argent into our house. Told her all our secrets. Let the monster in just because she batted her fucking eye lashes at you and let you get your dick wet.”
Derek throws the first punch.
Well. He tries to.
Peter twists out of the way easily, grabbing Derek's arm to use his own momentum to throw him further into the house where he lands in a roll and is immediately on his feet and charging again.
The stolen wool coat that Peter actually quite liked gets ruined almost instantly. He makes a momentary show of mourning it before twisting Derek's arm in the fabric and cracking a bone. The claws come out and they are both relentless in their need to hurt one another. To dig deep and make each other bleed. Dust and dirt choke the air with every impact of their bodies, their words spit out against one another, accusation after accusation.
He’s working himself out of a choke hold when he hears the other three finally come up from the basement and only spares the briefest of glances to ensure Genim holds the boys back.
“Should we… should we stop them?” Stiles’ eyes are wide - familiar - and Peter has to look away to stay focused.
“Nope,” Genim shakes his head and tugs them both to the side to avoid a flying piece of glass. “They need to work this out.”
Scott makes a wounded sound just as Peter’s claws dig deep into Derek's side. “And is this how wolves usually work things out?”
“Actually, no. This is just how Peter and Derek operate right now. Ope, hey, step back. Even with your healing a wooden beam to the head hurts like a bitch.”
Said wooden beam slams into the ground and through the floor due to Peter being thrown through what's left of the wall that separates the foyer from the living room.
He lands by the window.
By the bench. His face is less than a foot away from where Piper sits with her one good eye and patchy fur, slumped over.
Peter snatches the toy and roars loud enough to rattle the crumbling building making dirt and debris rain down around all of them. One last surge of pure, boiling fury fuels him and he’s on his feet in an instant, hand around Derek's throat as he slams the beta to the ground and digs his claws in while putting just enough pressure on his windpipe to make him really feel it, to have to struggle for a single breath. With one knee pressing down on Derek's chest, Peter puts Piper right in front of Derek's eyes and feels the moment the fight vanishes from his nephew.
“Do you see this, Derek? Do you see what your stupidity, your reckless disregard for the safety of our pack caused? And you didn't even have the decency to be here to burn with all the rest of them. The only reason I haven't killed you yet is because breaking that one, last, miserable bond to my pack - my entire family - would probably kill me too.” He digs a little deeper, presses harder. Nose to nose with Derek, Peter snarls. “You killed our family, and then you and your sister abandoned me to rot .”
“I'm…”
“Don't you dare,” Peter warns with one last squeeze before letting go entirely.
Derek curls up with a series of violent, bloody coughs while Peter stands. The shirt is just as ruined as the coat and he shrugs out of it entirely so he's just in the dark denims. He straightens his back and sniffs delicately, lifting his nose in the air and pulling his shoulders back as if he's not in a depth of pain that makes him want to shout and curse the very moon herself.
“Get out of this house, Derek,” Peter says firmly. At the wounded, lost look in Derek's wide eyes he adds, “it's not safe here. Find us at the loft once you've finished licking your wounds.”
They drop Scott off on the way to the loft.
Peter is out of the jeep and halfway to the stairs when Stiles finally speaks again. There is nothing keeping Peter from blatantly eavesdropping.
“Mr. Wayne? They've been through a lot, haven't they?”
Genim sighs. “We all have, kid. And I swear, if I could have stopped Scott from being bit, I would have. But I couldn't, so now I'm going to do everything I can to protect him and you. Got it?” He's lying about the first part, and Peter doesn't even want to know why.
“Yeah, I got it. And despite what he's said, Scott gets it too. Or at least, he will. I'll make sure of it, I promise.”
“I know you will, Stiles. I have complete faith in you.”
Peter's never had that much faith in anyone.
The shower in the loft runs hot enough to scorch.
He stands still under the spray as it pours down his face, his neck, his shoulders. It leaves his skin red even before he rubs it raw trying to get clean, to wash the burns away. There's no relief in his muscles, no calmness to the storm pounding against his head inside and out.
Time has slipped by him by the time Genim joins him in the thick steam, his long, lean muscles, myriad of scars, and scrolling ink on full display. For a moment Peter thinks of yanking him close, devouring him. Fucking him hard and fast as he drowns out all thoughts except pleasure.
But it's a fleeting thought, chased away by a silent, certain touch.
Peter doesn't speak. Doesn't shout and scream about how he can't get the smoke out of his skin or the soot from beneath his fingernails.
Somehow Genim still knows.
He knows how to lather the cloth and scrub and rinse and repeat over every inch until all Peter can smell is the mint of the soap. He knows to wash Peter's hair three times. He knows to grab a small, soft bristled brush and scrub the tips of Peter's fingers one by one.
Then he does the same to his own body, just as methodically, while Peter's hunger for this man builds and builds. While he works conditioner into his long hair, Peter lets his fingers dance down long lines of muscle, kisses his adam's apple, maps words he can't read with sight and touch and tries to memorize every single centimeter.
“Who are you?” Peter whispers into the heavy air between them.
Genim presses his body to Peter's, his arms wrapped around his shoulders, lips ghosting against one another. “Someone who is taking care of you.”
“Why?”
“Because no one else will.”
It should be insulting. But even before the fire Peter built his life to be exactly that way. To be alone. Isolated. A part of the pack, but on the very edge. So he could do what needed to be done - what no one else would - and not lose people in the process. Peter has never been the kind of person that needed someone to care for him, someone to look out for him. He should hate the very concept. Hate Genim.
Yet he doesn't.
He doesn't think he knows how.
“Not because I deserve it?”
Genim scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Life isn't about what we deserve, Peter. It's about what we have, what we get, and what we do with it.”
“And what have I got?”
“Me.”
They're still soaking wet when they fall into the bed, rivulets of water dripping down pale skin while Genim sinks onto Peter's cock. It starts slow. It starts sweet . But neither of them tend towards things as saccharin as sentiment so their intensity quickly picks up. Teeth and nails leave marks in flesh. Bruises form where Peter grips Genim's hips and fucks into him at a brutal pace. He swallows cries of protest when he prevents his lover from coming time and time again until he's being threatened with actual magic crackling like electricity through the air.
Even then Peter considers making him wait a little longer, just to see if he'd follow through.
(He does. He absolutely does follow through, and it's the hottest damn thing Peter has ever experienced in his life.)
On Monday, after he returns from teaching, Genim brings up the idea of expanding the pack once their current task is done. For a fleeting moment he imagines what it would be like to expand their pack slowly. Naturally. What Genim would look like with a gravid stomach and swollen ankles.
But apparently he means biting people and Peter almost lets his disappointment show before hiding it with an eye roll.
“Weren't you the one who threw a fit because I bit a teenager. ‘Teenagers are the stupidest beings on the planet,’ I seem to recall.” He sets his book aside just in time for Genim to join him on the ratty couch, straddling Peter's lap while he rests his lanky arms over his shoulders.
“I stand by that. Teenagers are idiots. But what I was actually mad about was biting anyone without consent. Thorough, well explained, informed consent. We're going to actively avoid strangers in the woods, and try and instead, and I know this is a novel thought here, seek out people who would benefit from not just the bite, but from having a pack. Bonus, you don't even have to bite them all… I'm certain we could scrounge up a few humans that would strengthen us.”
“Us, hm?” Peter grins wickedly and rubs Genim's thighs, delighting in how he refers to the pack as theirs . Which it is.
Peter would have to bury himself in miles of denial to claim anything otherwise.
On Tuesday, Peter decides to leave the initial selection committee responsibilities to his perfectly capable, and incredibly terrifying mate.
“What about that Jackson kid on the lacrosse team with…”
“Absolutely not. And if you ever bring his name up again in my presence I will cut off your balls and feed them to a monitor lizard.”
“Yes, dear.”
Wednesday while Peter is cooking dinner, Derek finally shows his face again.
Genim hasn't returned from the school yet, having stayed after to help tutor Scott in more than just chemistry in order to help get his grades back up. Apparently the fiasco that has been the last three weeks of the boy’s life led to a few distractions during tests.
“Come eat,” Peter demands quietly without looking up from the camp stove they are utilizing for the time being. He can't wait to get a real place with a proper gourmet kitchen once this is all over. Double oven. Eight burner stove top. Proving drawer for when he's in the mood to bake. A side by side industrial refrigerator. Quartz countertops.
Derek gingerly sits himself in the barstool on the other side of the makeshift work top which is little more than an old wooden door over two saw horses, nose twitching as he takes in the scent of lemon glazed salmon and asparagus.
“Have you killed anyone lately?”
Peter huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “Not since Saturday night. You're currently safe from any further false allegations against your perfectly innocent person.” He glances up in time to catch how his choice of words makes Derek squirm with guilt, but doesn't push the issue. Instead, he grabs a third paper plate from their stack and plates up the food, making sure to set aside some for Genim, then slides one over to his nephew.
“Eat,” he says again.
It takes almost an entire sixty seconds of staring each other down, but eventually Derek gives in and snaps up a fork. After the first reluctant bite, some of the tension actually drains from his shoulders and he begins eating in earnest.
“You know I don't put the blame for what happened squarely on your shoulders, right?”
With food still in his mouth, Derek grumbles. “You should.”
“I could, if you'd prefer it. But I like to point fingers at the people who actually set fire to our home. And the adult who seduced and manipulated a vulnerable teen age boy.”
That seems to completely steal Derek's appetite and he shoves the last few bites away. For a moment Peter thinks he's going to run, or at least refuse to engage in the topic, but he finds himself proud of the boy when he actually sits up straight and faces it head on.
“How do you even know about that?”
“A few things had to be added up to see the big picture, but I knew she was after you when it was happening. My failing was that I didn't see not only who she really was, but I also never grasped how deep she'd already gotten her filthy hooks under your skin. I assumed from the few times I saw you two interact that you were interested, as any red blooded teen age boy would be in a hot older woman, but that you were too…” he pauses as if actually carefully choosing his words. “fucked up from Paige to have any balls to do anything about it.”
“She didn't exactly give me a choice.”
The butter knife in Peter's hand goes through his fish, the paper plate, and halfway through the wooden door.
“Excuse me?”
“Not like that! Not when it came to… fuck, Peter. We did have sex, and I wanted it. But leading up to it she was… persistent. Pushy.”
“Coercion is not somehow better than not accepting a no. You get that, right?”
This time, Derek does look away, face still held high, but no longer able to meet Peter's blazing stare. “Can we move on? Like how you found out she was the one who was behind everything?”
“All it took was a little digging, honestly. Genim helped me confirm my suspicions.” There had been plenty of torture and murder involved, but Peter figures it's best not to bog Derek down in the details.
“Who the hell is that guy, anyway?” Derek demands. “Three days ago you beat the hell out of me for trusting someone who I was in bed with that wound up being a psychotic hunter while you're fucking some whack job who is actively helping you kill people! Someone, by the way, who I've never met, and I'm certain you haven't known for long.”
“Ironic, isn't it,” Peter muses. He grips the knife he'd left impaled in the door and tosses it to the side along with the rest of his own dinner. “Or maybe the term I'm looking for is hypocritical. Who cares? And don't forget, Derek. You couldn't possibly know who I've met and who I haven't - given you and your sister haven't been in Beacon Hills for almost six years.”
“I don't trust him.”
“Good. You shouldn't. Neither of us should trust anyone. It's a deadly habit to be in.”
“So why are you keeping him around?”
“Because I need him, Derek. He has proven himself to have knowledge I need and a willingness to get his hands dirty - bloody, even - that no one else around me has. The last three weeks would have gone very different for both you and Scott if Genim hadn't shown up when he did. Before him I was… I was still mad with rage. Out of control. A wild animal that was snapping at its cage.”
“Do you even know his last name?”
“No. And before you ask, that doesn't bother me.”
Derek looks at him as if he has finally, completely, lost his damned mind. To be fair, were their roles reversed Peter would be tearing him a new one - again - for putting any amount of trust in such a complete enigma of a person.
And then, because they may not be physically trading blows, but they're still trying to hit each other where it hurts, Derek points out the one thing that Peter has been trying to keep behind the curtains, so to speak, for the time being.
“He smells like Stiles.”
“He absolutely does not.”
He absolutely does .
“It's almost exactly the same!” Derek gets to his feet and paces a few steps before looking at Peter with an incredulous stare. “Like they're related or…”
“Are you going around sniffing teenage boys, Derek?” Peter snaps. The problem is, he’s not wrong, even if he's not entirely right. Stiles is missing the thick scent of magic about his person. The notes that Peter can name in their base scents, while the same, also have subtle differences that reaffirm in Peter's mind they are different. The smell of apples isn't quite a sweet on the older man. The citrus is more lemon than anything else.
It's not really enough to confirm they're different scents, but Peter is clinging to it for the time being.
“No! God, Peter. Why are you always such an asshole?”
Never let it be said Peter Hale isn't a master of diversion tactics.
“It's just part of my natural charm,” he says with a wide, toothy grin.
Before Derek can snap back at him or bring up some of the other obvious parallels between Genim and Stiles, there is a heavy thunk of a lock disengaging and the metal door to the loft slowly starts sliding open.
“Oh good! You're here.” Genim, in skinny jeans and a corduroy jacket complete with elbow patches and his hair in his usual bun, claps his hands together excitedly and doesn't even bother closing the door behind him as he comes to stand next to Peter, already grabbing the plate of salmon while addressing them both. “I hope you both have gotten through whatever you need to get through or at least have gotten through enough you can face the way everything is about to get a whole hell of a lot more bat shit crazy.”
Derek looks at Genim like he's insane, and Peter just smiles fondly at the man.
“Care to share with class, Mr. Wayne?” Peter says.
Genim swallows the first big bite of his dinner before responding as casually as if he's sharing the upcoming weather.
“Yeah. Kate Argent will be in town tonight.”
Somehow they manage to convince Derek to not only not go anywhere near the woman, but to actually l eave town until the full moon. He doesn't need to go far. In fact, they still want him close by just in case shit really hits the fan. But the next deaths on their to-do lists won't be able to be passed off as accidents or animal attacks.
Not that the most recent one was, either.
So he heads north. Genim even provides him with an eerily life like… thing … he refers to as a golem that will pass as Peter being wheeled around in a wheelchair.
“It doesn't have to breathe or move around!” Genim had informed Derek while the beta was arguing no one would buy it. “Peter is supposed to be catatonic. All it has to do is not fall over and maybe drool a little.”
Peter takes offence to that, of course. No matter what state he'd been in, he never stooped so low as to drool .
The important part, of course, is that Derek goes, and he doesn’t even fight them on it too much.
Genim also manages to keep Peter from immediately going after Kate.
That takes quite a bit more effort.
“You agreed to this plan of action, man.” Genim drags the smaller body through the underbrush and towards the roaring fire they’ve got going. Neither of the men they attacked are deceased yet. No. That part comes next.
“I agreed to a step by step list that ended with Kate’s blood spilled by my hands. There was no set timeline or date I was informed I had to wait for.” Peter has the taller man slung over his own shoulder. His captive isn’t quite as out of it as the other guy, and he’s groaning with every step Peter takes.
“No I get that, and like, you didn’t sign a contract or even pinky promise. Which if you broke a pinky promise would be even worse than a proper, legal breach of contract, let me tell you. Karma would come for your ass, okay? And I would help her. But there are steps . Important steps. I told you the kind of violence this woman does for fun, though. If we want to make her sweat a bit you can’t just chase her through the woods. She gets off on that kind of stuff. And I wish I was exaggerating.”
“We could just skip the intimidation tactics.”
“After all the work I put in!? Hell no.”
They come to a stop next to the growing flames and Peter drops his right on top of the other one. The guy groans in pain and starts to stir, but a swift kick has him falling silent once more.
“Besides,” Genim points out. “You wouldn’t get nearly the same amount of satisfaction from it.”
He’s right, of course. As much as Peter itches to get that bitch’s throat under his claws he wants to actually see her suffer. See her know what is coming for her and be, genuinely, afraid for her own life. Somehow he doubts that is anything she’s ever really encountered before. Peter considers the other tactics they have planned. Leaving her mementos from the fire. Little things here and there that had been in the house that night. He’s already been following her every evening, making it seem like he’s on the hunt while having no intention of getting too close.
Genim has done a bang up job of making the woman see things that aren’t there.
Nothing too unbelievable like ghostly apparitions or hearing voices.
Just movement in the dark.
An animal darting from one tree to another that doesn’t actually exist.
A claw at her window.
Tonight, there will be two charred corpses placed in the trunk of her stupid little car.
Once the screams have stopped and there is no longer any danger of either of their victims escaping and setting fire to the rest of the woods, Peter turns to his mate and studies him for a moment.
His face is blank, but his eyes are sharp and focused.
“Gen,” Peter says, trying to catch his full attention. “Why are you here?”
Without looking away from the fire, Genim shrugs. “I told you the other day.”
“Gen.”
Genim sighs, the sound drawn out until he makes a noise of deeply held frustration. Seeming to forget that his hair had been tied back, he runs a hand through it until it’s a half loose mess around one shoulder, strands of it clinging to his sweat damp cheeks, before he turns to face Peter, his amber eyes dancing with firelight.
“I know what it’s like to lose everything to these people,” he says softly. “To watch as your friends, your family, your pack, falls one after the other. And this is just the beginning. There are others out there, people who will try and seek their own sick form of revenge. We’ll have to stop them too. And you can’t do that on your own. No one can.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Because Kate didn’t just pop into existence in a vacuum. Someone raised that psycho. Someone taught her to hate. To use that hate and focus it into violent destruction.”
Peter gives him an exaggerated smirk, stepping closer and grabbing Genim’s hands in his own to bring them up to press his lips to worn, weathered knuckles. “And here I thought you were doing all this just for me.”
In return, Genim lifts up on his toes and gives Peter a surprisingly soft kiss on his brow.
“I’m doing this so I never have to lose someone I love again.”
The sudden lump in Peter’s throat is just from the thick smoke in the air and absolutely nothing else.
This time, no one reports the dead bodies.
But Peter sees.
He sees the way the bitch steps back as if burned when she opens the trunk. How she quickly closes it and looks around to ensure no one passing by has seen anything. How she draws her gun in an instant. Even from how far away Peter watches he can smell the acrid stench of her fear.
It would be delicious if he’d dared to get up close and personal.
Waiting is the name of the game now. Letting her stew in the knowledge that she is the only one left. Letting her decide what needs to be done with the last of her accomplices.
Letting her jump at shadows waiting for the moment Peter will strike.
“Is this really necessary?”
“God, Scott. Would you just shut the hell up? You have been a complete dick wad all damned day.”
Peter bites his lips as the boys bicker back and forth during their trudge through the preserve.
From what Genim tells him the boy’s control is actually quite phenomenal for a wolf approaching his second moon, but even Peter can feel her song just under his skin. Peter’s checked in on him once or twice, personally. But Scott is still far too bitter about what Peter did for him to stay around for long periods of time.
Derek has returned after a week-long stint in the Redwood National State park where he was seen by several people renting a cabin to care for his poor uncle far away from the chaos and violence that has become Beacon Hills. The cabin is under his name for the next three months, and they will pop up there every once in a while just to make an appearance. He’s walking at Peter’s side while Genim leads their little merry band through the trees.
“Could you at least tell us where we’re going?” Scott whines.
“Candy mountain, Charlie,” Genim says in a strange, high pitched voice from the front of the pack.
Derek groans and Stiles nearly trips in his laughter before adding in a fucking pitch perfect matching voice, “yeah Charlie. It’ll be an adventure!”
“My god, there are two of them,” Derek grumbles while wiping a hand down his face.
Peter speaks quietly, despite the fact that he knows everyone can still hear him. “What the hell just happened?”
“You don’t want to know,” Derek says, shaking his head.
“Guys,” Scott growls. “Seriously?”
This time, when Genim speaks, his voice gains an edge of authority. Peter wonders if this is how he teaches and if he can get the man to do it more often.
Maybe in the bedroom.
“In all seriousness, Scott, we are going somewhere very powerful. There’s a spot here in the preserve that will help protect us and ground the three of you to keep in complete control during the course of the full moon. It’s an old place, centuries old, and it was dying for many years, but…”
Derek and Peter seem to come to the same realization simultaneously and stop dead in their tracks.
Peter manages to speak first.
“You’re joking.”
They share a glance, and Derek starts to look wary, his breath coming quicker, heart rate picking up.
“Why don’t you come see for yourself?” Genim says, not stopping or even slowing down.
After a few silent glances and a wordless argument, Derek and Peter apparently both decide their curiosity weighs far more than their completely justified caution, and they begin moving again. A few more feet and the crunch of dead leaves beneath their shoes all but vanishes. What Peter expects, and what he assumed Derek expects as well, is just dry, empty dirt. No life at all.
What they find is anything but dead.
Lush, green grass gets thicker and thicker underfoot with every step they take. The trees are sprouting leaves that should have fallen months ago. There are flowers sprouting in the nooks and crannies of twisting roots, their brilliant colors and clean scents out of place in the chill winter air. Another step. Another turn.
Abruptly, the trees end and they are standing at the edge of a clearing that Peter only remembers as desolate - but now, it is anything but.
Genim is already sitting at the center of the old, gnarled stump. But instead of sickly brown and dried out, well, everything, the land around the stump is even more lush than the underbrush of the trees. There are sprouts here and there coming up from the cracks in the ancient wood and life infused in every square inch of the very air that surrounds them.
“Welcome to the Nemeton.”
Derek balks. “What did you do?” He takes a cautious step closer, and then another. And another. They may have had the memory of how to find this place taken from them, but neither ever forgot what happened. How corrupted and dark it had always been for both of their lives.
“I healed her,” Genim says plainly. Reverently. There is no bragging and superiority in his tone, despite how incredibly powerful one would have to be to heal this place.
“Want to explain for the newbies?” Stiles asks, glancing at Scott who - though confused himself - seems much more settled now that they’ve arrived.
“It is a Nemeton,” Peter begins. “Centuries ago druids selected this grove as a ritual site based on the concentration of power and energy that flows beneath the earth. From the natural existence of magic and the addition of years of rituals being performed here its power only grew over time. There are a few around the globe, but this one was… it was corrupted. Covens and circles of all sizes and powers tried to cleanse it but nothing worked. I’m not sure when but sometime before I was born someone cut it down to prevent the rot and darkness from spreading.” Peter repeats Derek’s question. “Gen. What did you do?”
“There was a bug.” He presses his hand firmly to the flat surface and closes his eyes, breathing deeply. No one comments on the tear that slips down his cheek. “A fly in the ointment. A sickness.”
“You cured it?” Derek asks.
“I killed the bug,” Genim whispers. When he raises his hand there is a rush of magic that Peter can feel in his bones, curled up with the scent that always follows his mate tapping into that raw, unstoppable power. Earth and rain. Life. They all watch, mesmerized, as he turns his hand and twists his fingers until a small, bright, moonlight blue butterfly appears on the back of his knuckles, gently flapping its wings once, twice, and then lifting off to fly into the bright orange of the setting sun.
“That. Was. Awesome!” Stiles exclaims with exuberance and a wave of his arms. Even Scott looks sufficiently impressed and Peter, well. Peter is once again glad this man is on his side . “Can you teach me magic?!”
Genim laughs.
It starts as a quiet sound of amusement but quickly grows into something almost manic while he holds his side and holds himself up against the surface of the tree stump. He doesn’t lose control for too long, though, quickly taking a deep breath as he shakes his head, grin still firmly in place.
“Yeah. Yeah, Stiles. I can absolutely teach you magic. It won’t be the same as mine, but you can still learn.”
“Now? Like what can I…”
“Woah. Slow your roll there, Homestar. Right now we have a ritual to perform to keep everyone safe tonight. But soon, alright? I promise.”
Peter almost has to take a step back when he glances at Stiles, a familiar, steely resolve in achingly familiar amber eyes makes him feel like he’s seeing double. The kid points at Genim with a quick jerk of his hand. “I’m going to be holding you to that. Pinky promise.”
The loop their pinkies together, both as serious and solemn as the other.
The next several minutes are occupied by Genim putting everyone in a very precise circle around the circumference of the tree. Their shoes are all removed and set aside so they can connect directly to the earth. When Genim tells them to remove their shirts Stiles hesitates, but Derek speaks up.
“Is that really necessary?”
“It would be more powerful if we were all naked, but I’m not in the mood to see everyone’s junk.”
“Aww, not even mine?” Peter pouts playfully.
“Shut up, I’m always in the mood to see yours and you know it. Now get rid of the shirts. This is a compromise, people.” He claps his hands a few times. “Let’s go.”
Once they’re all standing around topless and barefoot, Genim takes one last walk around the circle to ensure everyone is in exactly the right spot. As he takes his own position, Scott shifts uncomfortably.
“Can you tell us what’s about to happen?”
“Sure,” Genim says with a shrug, slipping back into teacher mode. “Basically, I’m going to ask the earth and moon to spare a bit of themselves to protect us under the light of the full moon. If she accepts, we will be provided with a spark of energy for each of us - one light per soul - just as the sun fully sets and the moon takes her place overhead. The sparks are… hm. Some people call them sprites. Some may call them moon motes. Others whisps. But as long as she has control of the sky, no one can bring us harm, including ourselves. Which is why we’ll be safe from the hunters - who will be out in droves tonight - and the three wolves will have complete control.”
“ If she chooses to bless us,” Derek says with a hint of trepidation.
“Don’t worry, the earth and moon both love me,” Genim says with a wink. “I’m very lovable.”
Peter ducks his head to hide the ridiculous grin that breaks across his own features.
They all fall silent after that, focused intently on Genim. He’s silent as well, at first, but Peter can feel the energy gathering around them, building up beneath their feet and in the air. At some point, and Peter can’t even pinpoint exactly when, he begins chanting words in a language that Peter couldn’t hope to identify. With every syllable that slips past his gorgeous lips the ink on his skin seems to shift and dance, the silvery glow outlining each stroke growing brighter and brighter. Peter had thought that he’d dreamed that once upon a time. But now, it’s real, and brilliant, and the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Stiles is the one to break the reverence with a breathless, “ woah ” capturing all their attention where he’s looking.
At the center of the Nemeton, six small, fluttering orbs of light the same color of the butterfly Genim had created earlier begin dancing up through the cracks.
They twirl and spin around the sprouts of plants, lifting into the air as if playing with one another until coming to a brief pause and then drifting out towards each of them. One for Stiles. One for Scott. One for Derek. One for Peter.
…and two for Genim.
Peter’s eyes grow wide with shock and no small amount of confusion.
Genim himself watches with growing disbelief, clearly not expecting this outcome.
But it doesn’t slow him down, or break his concentration. Instead, he keeps chanting as the orbs settle over each of their hearts, the spare settling over Genim’s abdomen.
Peter stops breathing.
The moment the orbs all vanish, Genim's mouth snaps shut with an audible click and he looks down at himself on the verge of panic. Peter can see it in the way his hands tremble, hear his heartbeat suddenly racing wildly out of control. He doesn’t know or care how the others are reacting, because all he can do is watch his mate.
His pregnant mate.
“We’re…” Genim puts a single, shaking hand over his lower stomach. “We’re m…” he can’t even seem to finish the word, mouth opening and closing and suddenly staring at Peter - through him - furious and confused and, strangely, hurt.
Why would this hurt him?
Peter had thought…
“Gen.”
Peter takes a step towards him, but Genim takes two steps back, holding out one hand as if he has to defend himself.
“Don’t touch me!” He shouts. His voice cracks. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me what we are!”
“I thought you knew! You knew… fuck, Genim. You knew everything else!”
Before Peter can get close, Genim turns on his heel, straightens his back, and walks out of the clearing. It’s less than a second before Peter moves, trying go after him, but as soon as he gets to the tree line there is no trace of Genim having even existed in that space. No sounds. No sight. No scent.
Nothing.
Stumbling backwards, mind racing like wildfire, his legs come into contact with the Nemeton and he slumps down onto it, trying desperately to think about everything they’ve ever said to each other. Everything they’ve almost said to each other. He could feel the love. He could feel the devotion. Not just his own, but coming from Genim as well. How could the man have not known what they were to each other? How could someone so powerful, who knew so much about everything and everyone not know this about himself?
“Uh…” Scott breaks the tightly wound silence. “What the hell just happened?”
“He’s…” Derek clears his throat. “He’s pregnant.”
“That… that’s a thing!? Men can.. I could… what ?” Stiles promptly begins to freak out, and there’s something in his voice that manages to draw Peter’s attention. Something in his choice of words.
“Is this something else you didn’t tell me about?” Scott shouts to no one in particular, suddenly furious. “I don’t want to get pregnant!!”
“Scott,” Stiles says, seething. “Shut up for a second, alright. This isn’t about you this is about the dude that I’m 99% sure is me from the future being able to get knocked up which means I COULD GET knocked up, not you and this is… that is…” He folds himself in half, hands on his knees, and breathes deeply for several long, careful breaths.
“You from the future?” Derek asks with his head tilted in deep confusion.
Peter just sighs because it was on his list, but very far down on the likelihood scale.
“I’m not an idiot, alright? He’s way older and scarred to hell with the long hair and shit, but I know what I look like. We’re the same exact height and general build even if he’s got way more muscles. He’s got moles in exactly the same places. He sounds like me just… rougher. He… he makes the same damn jokes I do at the same exact time every time. Did no one else see that?!? And HOW AM I… HOW IS HE KNOCKED UP!?”
Derek sighs and takes a seat next to Peter, addressing the kid, but looking directly at his uncle. “Wolves of the same gender as their partner can only impregnate their partner if they are mates.”
All Peter can do is nod at the unasked question. They are, and he knew.
That part, at least.
“Like soulmates?” Scott asks, his anger giving way to genuine curiosity.
“Yes,” Derek confirms. “Exactly like soulmates. Bonded deeper and more thoroughly than anyone else could ever hope to be or understand. Having a destined mate isn’t common. Same gendered mates having a child is even less so. But it’s not unheard of.”
“But… how? Doesn’t he have…” Scott gestures between his legs and Derek rolls his eyes.
“It’s not about the parts. Two women can do it, too. It’s about the magic. And the need for a pack.”
The need for a pack . God, had he been desperate for a pack the first time they fucked. And Genim is the most powerful magic user Peter has ever seen or heard of. If he hadn’t seen the man’s shocked reaction first hand he would have even said Genim had planned it - made it happen himself.
But there was no faking that disbelief on Genim’s face.
Even at the best of times he could keep his features calm and cool and collected, not reacting and seemingly unaffected to the craziest of scenarios. Except for his eyes. There was never any hiding his emotions in those brilliant eyes, especially from Peter.
How could he have not known?
“Huh.” Stiles says suddenly.
Derek glances up at him, and Peter only knows because he feels him move. “What is it?”
“This means I am totally attractive to gay guys!”
Scott’s groan reverberates through the air. “Oh my god, Stiles!”
Peter just laughs, laying there at the Nemeton, staring up at the moon as she stares back almost smug. She knew . Of course she knew, she probably made it happen. But Peter laughs anyway, because what else is he supposed to do?
He’s going to go after his mate, of course. He has to. And even if he didn’t have to, he wants to.
Right now though… he just needs a minute.