Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 He's never felt so hypersensitive before in his life, but right now he can almost feel and hear everything going on around him. The sound of the clock ticking away, the all too
familiar hospital smell that's a combination of bleach mixed with anesthetics he wouldn't doubt, and then there's the gut wrenching pain inside knowing this was his fault. He brought his dad into this side of the world, this fucked up part of the world composed of the supernatural who want to rule the world.

Stiles tapped his shoes rapidly against the tile floor of the lifeless, dark waiting room with his nerves high and on edge. It'd been at least twelve hours, twelve hours since he found his dad lying there on the floor bleeding out to death. He barely remembered calling for an ambulance, and anxiety plagued his mind wondering just how long he'd been in a terrified, daze staring down at his dad slowly deteriorating right in front of him. It couldn't have been more than a minute before he actually dialed nine-one-one, but his fingers had been covered up in blood, his fingers had trembled as he dialed, he'd pressed the stupid, back key over thirteen times but had been too spastic to get three, freaking numbers right. Now, his Dad was paying the price. Tears gradually gathered inside of his eyes, and he presses the palm of his hand over his mouth to stop himself from screaming out. He knows once he starts screaming, he won't be able to stop.

Stiles rests his head in his hands, elbows resting on the edge of the bed as he listens to the ventilator helping keep his dad alive for now. The surgery was a ‘success’, and all he wants is to scream that they didn't do a good job because his Dad is still lying unconscious, getting worse as the minutes pass by faster than before. Something else is far more wrong then they can see, and it scares the crap out of him because what can he do? If there were spells or anything to revive the dead, he’d do that a long time ago.

When he’s called out by Melissa to speak with the doctor, he reluctantly gets up to leave the room and follows her out. They ask him everything already asked way earlier, and he continues to vent that he doesn’t know what happened, but he does. He knows exactly what happened, and who is to blame for all of this happening. Theo Raeken, is an evil bastard, and he had one of them, the chimeras attack his father. Telling them that he doesn’t doubt will get him shipped off straight into Eichen House again.

Come later that morning, Stiles sits inside of the only home he's ever known staring across the table where his Dad should be sitting right now. They should be having a stupid argument over his health, or how they needed to leave this town because its almost killed them both more times than he can count. If that isn't a warning to leave, he doesn't know what is. But, instead he's sitting here in silence staring at a coffee mug, trying to figure out what to do next. He's here, and his father is lying dead in the morgue of the hospital because now they're launching an investigation on who killed him. But, Stiles knows; he knows that Theo had a part in it, and it's most likely one of his chimera children that he created with the doctors. All he wants right now is to kill whoever did it, but he knows that he isn't strong enough and for a minute, he craves the Nogitsune’s power that once flowed throughout his body. It was never he himself actually using that power though, his body was controlled and taken advantage of, forced to be an evil fox’s puppet. A puppet with no strings attached.

When his phone begins vibrating around once more on the table, he reluctantly grabs hold and looks to the name across the screen. Scott, Scott McCall, his former best friend and the last person that he wants to see or hear from right now. Scott can apologize all he wants, and have the audacity to actually tell him that he, Stiles, he trusted Theo too? It makes his blood boil, and just remembering their fight inside of the hospital, and trying to get Theo to speak. When did he ever trust, Theo? He never placed any faith in that guy’s hands, Scott was at fault, he was the one to allow him into the pack, he was the one that let him in, and now everything was in chaos. Pressing the power button, it silenced and he got up to go grab his hoodie, along with the keys to the SUV that belonged to his dad.

Walking up the steps of the long pathway, Stiles paused for a moment, leaning back against the barrier and staring down into the concrete. There was no guarantee he’d actually find what he was looking for here, or that it would even help. He’d driven all the way out here to the place he’d never wished to return to. But, he wasn’t going to let anything stop him now, he’d made up his mind and would accept the consequences that came with it. He already had an idea planned out, it would work, everything was going to work this time. Stepping past the creaking gate, he paused momentarily to watch it close shut, signalling he was now locked in this place.  Walking up to the front desk with his hands shoved in his pockets, he met the gaze of the receptionist with a calm gaze. “I’m here to see, Peter Hale.”

Chapter Text

 Emptying out his pockets is annoying, and Stiles questions what harm is he going to do with a cell phone and tissue, but he’ll give them that, that a pocket knife is just a little dangerous. If he knew he had just a little bit of power, he wouldn’t be here. He doesn’t know how this town has always been so passive, an orderly is just allowing him into an insane asylum, and not just the bad part, the really, really bad part. It’s like he’s living in a world controlled by bad writers, who insist to make everything inaccurate because their work is fiction and they can get away with it.  

“Can I get through now?” Stiles questioned, and reluctantly he lifts his arms as he’s fully patted down by the asylum orderly for anything considered a danger. If he knew there was a possibility he could be as dangerous as he wanted to be, he wouldn’t have, had to come here.

“If something goes wrong, you’ll be the first one I put back in here. Nobody will miss a stupid, teenager.” The security guard snaps at him like if he’s asked him over twenty times, when it’s only been twice.

Stiles turns to walk, but not before he purposely walks into him just to provoke him even more. “Or, maybe you’ll be the one locked in one of these cages.” He expects nothing more than laughter from the man of course, and watches him walk off still laughing. Stiles hopes he chokes on his saliva.

Stepping through the mountain ash barrier, he walked down the long, hallway that is all too familiar than it should be. The last time he was here, he had never even thought about the werewolf that had gone nuts and tried to take Scott’s power. Stiles wondered greatly if Peter had possibly sensed them, and thoughts of the werewolf possibly being in a catatonic state crossed his mind. Nothing had ever kept Peter down before, so what was the one thing that had stopped him from trying to escape this place. When Peter had first been placed back in Eichen, he’d kept his mind away from anything involving the man because he’d tried to kill his best friend. But, in the back of his mind he wondered what was to stop him from getting out of there. Peter was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. He was a disgustingly, smart, psychotic werewolf, and Stiles was putting himself right in the middle of the devil’s hands.

Pausing near Valack’s cell, he looked into the one that held the Sluagh and bit down on his bottom lip seeing the image of his father. His dad looks just like he did before, tired and covered in blood that seeped from his stomach. Stiles knows this isn’t him, because he’s dead, and a part of him inside wonders if he’s with his mom. Pressing his hand up against the glass, he doesn’t even flinch when the false image of his father fades away and the Sluagh angrily growls at him, before it slams its entire body into the glass. 

“Sorry.” Stiles muses quietly, and feels just maybe a little guilty about the Sluagh beating its head against the glass. It’s not the monster’s fault it’s locked inside of this cage, but then again it could be.  

Continuing back down the hall, he begins to wonder if this is just a trap and Peter isn’t actually here. But, reaching the end of the hall is when he notices the lone cell at the end that is all in solitude. It’s darker on this part, with the flickering light above only making the atmosphere more unsettling.

That’s when he finally sees him, and stares straight into the cold, blue eyed gaze that could probably kill him, that’s wanted to kill him on multiple occasions. Stiles swallows the lump in his throat, staring to the man behind the glass. “Peter.”

“Stiles, what a surprise.” Peter smiled mischievously, and was leaning back against the wall of the glass that’s lined up to the brim in mountain ash, Stiles doesn’t doubt. He’s seen Peter do more damage, and it’s clear that the werewolf isn’t so powerful below in this cell as he’d be above. He looks to have actually aged a little, but Stiles is sure if you let him take a nice, warm bath and shave he’ll revert back to a self entitled, evil genius.

“I hope you’re not coming here to ask for my blessing between the parasite and you, or that you've created mini parasites.” Peter clarifies, smirking directly at him.

Stiles is puzzled for a moment, growing close to questioning what he means when it pops into his head, and he almost chokes on the non-existent food in his mouth. “What?! No. No. No. God, no.” He shook his head, cheeks flushing red. “We’re not together, she’s not a parasite, and that’s not why I’m here.” 

Peter rolls his eyes, and pushes off of the wall as he approaches the glass and looks directly into his eyes. “Enlighten me, why am I graced with your unwanted presence?”

“It’s not like I want to be here.” Stiles frowns, and pulls at his hair a little in frustration because Peter, Peter makes him just a little less stressed than Theo does. Even though, he really wouldn’t mind piercing them both with a sharp object.

“Yet, you’re here acting like I’ve already told you no. Go on, tell me, there’s a sixty percent chance I’ll finally sink my claws into your stomach, rip you apart from the inside out.” Peter growls, and Stiles raises his head up in time to see the illuminating blue eyes staring back into his own, and the shape of his face morphing into the monster that Peter Hale is and will always be.   

“You’re going to make a deal with me.” Stiles doesn’t falter, keeping his head held high knowing just the smallest flinch would make Peter feel even more superior over him then he already does.

Peter stares at him with an actual look of astonishment, but there’s also a hint of amusement that pisses Stiles off. “And, why should I? Why should I make a deal with you, Stiles?”
 
“Because, I can get you out of here.” Stiles snaps, looking back at him with no amount of emotion behind his voice. “Permanently.”

Peter looks to him with disbelief, and he actually shakes his head like he’s scolding him. “You? You can get me out of here? Stiles, there is no way you can get me out of this place, or are you smart enough to get me out of this place, but I will say, I’m impressed you were actually able to lie this far into this conversation. Now, if you’ll please leave and find the giant sign that says, ‘exit’, I ca-.”

“I killed someone. It was self defense, but that’s not what he believed, Scott. He wanted me to just die, let myself be mauled to death because it’s better than killing someone. My dad is dead, and it’s partially my fault. I’m going to bind myself to you, in turn you can’t be touched, and in return all I need is for you to brutally kill someone for me. After that, I don’t care what happens. Rip out my intestine, write on the walls with it. Either way, you’re going to help me.” Stiles finished out of breath, and held up a ring of keys.

Peter grew quiet, staring at him as he watched him fumble with the keys to find the right one that went to the cell. So, Sheriff John Stilinski was actually dead? It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it coming, it was a domino effect really from how he saw it. Once the little huntress had perished, it was only a matter of time before slowly death would take them all out one by one. Stiles seemed strangely calm, more so than he should be. From what Peter remembered the few years ago that the Sheriff had been taken by his nephew's crazed ex-girlfriend, Stiles had been increasingly on edge, flipping out at his nephew, and terrified beyond belief. Yet, now he seemed to be increasingly emotionless, and Peter loved it.  “Explain to me what you would know about binding?” He questioned.

“Binding, we’re going to be together forever, Peter. Well, at least until you decide to kill me, and then in the process kill yourself. Or, I die, you die. There’s even a third way, someone kills you.” Stiles told him looking to be growing closer on edge, and knew there was a good chance this wouldn’t work. What exactly was Peter now? For all he knew, the self proclaimed Alpha wolf was nothing but a empty shell. “But, go ahead. Tell me right now, if you’d prefer to stay here in this prison, I’m sure the Sluagh and the others would love running around this town.”

“It’s the last key, and we might just dye the walls a different color on the way out. Bad day to wear that white shirt.”

Chapter Text

Stiles was past managing to work around the mountain ash barrier restricting Peter inside of the cell, and those set of keys were possibly the dumbest invention ever made in his opinion. It wasn’t a wonder now on how exactly Eichen House seemed to be the most accessible place in Beacon Hills almost. As long as you had a valid ID or knew certain people, you could come right into this insane asylum holding deadly, supernatural creatures and lunatics. Never mind being an underage adolescent or former patient, step right on in.

Peter hadn’t been wrong about the keys, Stiles had selected the supposed one and the door had unlocked with no trouble whatsoever. Pulling the door open, he took a couple of weary steps back and watched Peter step out of his enclosure. Unpredictable, he didn’t expect Peter not to go back on his word and slice open his stomach. Only, Stiles didn’t feel this time that, that would actually be so bad.

“Scared?” Peter smiled tenderly, and it made Stiles cringe on the inside. No, tenderly wasn’t even the word, it looked sweet and everything, but that was just creepy.

“No, I would just like further notice if you decide to sink those cat claws into me.” Stiles smiled crookedly, making Peter’s gaze actually turn to something of confusion.

“You seem to think now that I’ll kill you, because if I kill you now we won’t be bound, you’ll be what’s the word, oh, dead. I can get out of this town, and we’re done being in each others lives.” Peter straightforwardly told him.

“Isn’t that your plan?” Stiles made a face, and his breath hitched when he felt that cold, hand wrapping slowly around his throat. Locking his gaze with Peter’s, it proved difficult not to be able to look away from those stupid, captivating eyes.

“Partially, it was my plan. But, as always, you never cease to amaze me, Stiles.” Peter sighed, using his free hand to hold both of the thin, wrists above the boy’s head.

Stiles was frozen stiff, and swallowed down the lump in his throat feeling like a lamb about to be eaten, and he cursed Scott for actually making him go see Twilight . Yeah, and did Scott ever watch Star Wars with him? No. 

“I should have bit you, you’d be,” Peter trailed off, everything around them came to a halt as soon as the sounds of heavy footsteps from down the hall. Unwrapping his fingers from around Stiles’ throat, Stiles pushed himself off of the wall as three of the orderlies came from around the corner equipped with their little weapons.

“I may have stolen his keys, that’s why the one up front is upset.” Stiles admitted, and got ready to make a run for it, but felt his feet leaving the ground and couldn’t believe that Peter, Peter Hale had just thrown him right back into this cage.  

Peter ignored the fuming, ball of rage coming from the other side of the glass and closed the door as it clicked, signalling it was locked once more. Popping his neck, he knew he was just a little rusty, but these people were humans, pathetic and stupid as they came. Like he’d thought six months ago, lay low, let them think you’re under their thumb, and bye bye overly expensive wolfsbane. Flashing his blue eyes, he let the change take over and his wolf come to the surface as his growl sounded throughout the corridor and made everyone restless.

Stiles at this point didn’t know what Peter was doing locking him in here, and attempted to beat on the glass, but found it indestructible, but he could see physically now where Peter had tried, claw marks covering the inside. A ear splitting, crunch had him turning his attention back to outside, and once he glanced up he was staring in the lifeless eyes of the man from earlier. His body was leaning half way up against the glass, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth and Peter’s foot lay between the man’s shoulder blades where he’d killed him with no mercy. Stiles was frozen stiff, staring out into the hall and following Peter’s movements as he took down both of the orderlies with little struggle. Everything seemed to move at a timeless pace, and there was blood everywhere.

Peter ripped the man’s jugular vein out with his bare teeth, before letting the thrashing body drop down onto the floor. He watched it tremble, but every movement came to an increasingly still pace until the body no longer moved. Seeing no more movement, he turned his gaze to the human inside of his former cage and found him seemingly in a trance almost. Stiles looked so still, and Peter guessed he made the right choice putting him inside considering he wouldn’t have lasted in a fight.

Picking up the keys, Peter quietly stepped over the bodies littering the floor and unlocked the door, gaining Stiles’ attention. Stiles looked up to the wolf covered in blood from head to toe, and stared into his wolfed out face with silence filling the air between them. “You got a little something on you.”

“I thought the same thing about you, but then I realized that you’re not wolfed or anything, you generally look like this everyday.” Peter smirked, and Stiles shook his head looking back over towards the bodies that lay along the floor. “Are they all,” he trailed off, knowing the answer already, but had to ask.

“Dead? Yes, they are very dead. It was self defense mind you, they had angry, electric objects and wanted to use them on me.” Peter smiled, and stepped over towards him.

Stiles shook is head, and the words self defense, it made his thoughts think back to his own self defense. He had done everything to protect himself from Donovan that night, he hadn’t viciously tried to fight back with something he knew would deliberately kill him.

Peter eyed the young male deep in thought, lying there on the floor deep in thought who knew where. “You can continue sitting there pathetically on the floor deep in thought all you want, I can leave a trail for you to follow later.” He hummed, holding his hand out for Stiles in the most sincerest gesture he could think of.

“Shut up.” Stiles grumbled, and snapped out of his thoughts as he rejected his hand, pushing himself up off of the floor, and walking past Peter out into the hall littered of bodies. He looked back over towards Peter, and lifted his arms up in exasperation. “Couldn’t have been a little more discrete?”

“Discrete? I told you we might color the walls.” Peter offered a disapproving gaze, that quickly turned back to thrilling enjoyment. “We’re going to get out of here with just a little less hassle, that’s all that matters. You could always tell me thank you, it’s simple, really.” 

Stiles wondered why he would even ask, and rubbed at his forehead. “Thank you, I guess, but how do you even know a way out of this place, Peter?” Stiles asked, and left out the questions of why he we would even know a way out.

“You would love to know, and I probably won’t tell you.” Peter smirked, and turned to toss the set of keys that would no longer be of any use.

Stiles was in disbelief as they exited the tunnels that he’d been inside of in what seemed so long ago, and looked back to Peter who’d been unusually silent the entire trip out of this place.

“Missing it already?” Stiles inquired, pushing open the creaking gate and heading straight towards the SUV. Once he got home, Peter could wash all that blood off and then they could move onto actually doing something other than bickering.

“Actually, I think the air inside was more sterilized, so sure. The walls were boring, but at least my environment wasn’t on the verge of killing me.” Peter followed after, but took his time seemingly.

Stiles doubted that his environment on the inside was trying to preserve him, but quickly caught onto his behavior, noticing how he glanced around, seeming more interested than Peter Hale should actually be about the back of a asylum. Then it hit him, Peter still thought he was actually lying about everything.

“I’m not going to turn around and sell you on the black-market, at least not now.” Stiles offered, unlocking the doors to the SUV. “I’d tell you I won’t stab you in the back, but that seems just a little too friendly for us.” He smiled thinly, watching the werewolf get in the passenger seat.

“I wouldn’t dream of you treating me any different, orphan.”

Chapter Text

 When they arrive to the Stilinski home, Peter expects there to be something, the McCall pack waiting, Scott or his parasite of a daughter, but there’s nothing. Stiles gets out so fast of the vehicle to run inside, while Peter takes his time observing him as the boy goes inside rambling quietly to himself. Great. Getting out of the human death trap, Peter walks calmly up to the front door and steps inside with a almost need to announce his entrance, but doesn’t.

Peter steps inside of the home and closes the door quietly behind him. It looks the same as it had before, though the atmosphere is clearly different. There are different scents lingering inside of the home, the late Sheriff’s in particular along with Stiles’ is obviously common. Faintly, he smells Scott as well, and then there’s the unfamiliar one that he bets belongs to ‘that’ guy. The guy Stiles broke him out of his prison for to kill. It makes his nose wrinkle in disgust, because this guy’s scent seems to be covering the entire area. He knows that he himself lingered around a few corners, though more specifically his nephew creeped around, but never did he intentionally leave his scent all over the place.

While Stiles is upstairs, Peter walks around the living room, noting how everything seems to be more normal than it should be. A empty coffee mug sits on the coffee table, papers are all over the place, and the remote to the TV is lying on the floor. It doesn’t look like the setting of someone whose parent just passed, and Peter is slowly coming to the realization that it probably hasn’t even been a week.

When his parents died hours apart from each other, Peter remembers Talia getting the family together and as he’d figured, his own parents had planned their own funeral down to the last detail. He hadn’t been as close to his parents as Talia, and he held that as a major factor in why the Alpha power had not been passed down to him. His father, the nasty, old, traditionalist that he was had labeled Peter the ‘failure’ of the Hale family. Then there was his Mother, she was weak, too weak, and had basically been a slave to his father. She was too weak to stick up for Talia or himself, and his father’s word was law. He’d never felt so pathetic in his life that day, sitting in the middle of the hall with tears flowing from his eyes while everyone else sat in the other room paying their final respects. Why would he cry for the people he absolutely hated with everything inside of him.

Generally, Peter’s examined that one cries for someone because they miss them. If not cry, they at least express it in some way, angry being the perfect word to describe his nephew grieving. Dear Laura could be solemn, yeah, and well he couldn’t really say about Cora, considering it was like she magically removed herself out of the fire. He would have grieved too, for the family that he lost in the fire. If, his remaining family hadn't left him to waste away in a long term care facility like he was nothing.

 Stiles grabbed the book from atop of his bed with carefulness, wondering how the spine hadn’t already broken in half from the condition. It was old, tattered, and the book itself gave off an unsettling feeling that pooled in his stomach, but he blamed that on nerves. He wondered if Deaton knew that he’d stolen from him, but Deaton wasn’t stupid, the veterinarian knew what he’d done most likely. But, he let him do it anyway, and the more he thought about it, the man had let Derek and Scott do a lot of stupid things in the past.

Shaking his head, he grabbed the sharpened knife that he’d stolen from Chris Argent while the hunter had been at the hospital with Scott. That’s what he had to complete the binding curse, a book and a knife, and hopefully it would actually work. For all he knew, there was no such thing as behind binded together and it only existed in fiction. If it were true to work, why wasn’t it a worldwide phenomenon?

“Hey, if you’re going to have continuously, overly unnecessary thought conversations with yourself, can I eat or something?”

Stiles was brought out of his thought process, and glanced over at Peter with a aggravated look in his eyes. “Yes.” He sighed, and turned his attention back to the book.

“So, that’s it then. You stole a very old, powerful book?” Peter asked him, and stepped closer in curiosity. But, just as soon as he’d stepped in, Stiles was holding the book in his hand.

“Yes, and I’m not giving it to you, because you’re liable to do something entirely different, evil.” Stiles pointed out.

“True, and I’m hurt honestly. Aren’t you doing that right now? Evil.” Peter mocked him, dropping down onto the teenager’s desk chair.

Stiles made a face, but ignored him as he sat down on the bed. “It’s not evil, it’s going to whatever it takes to get rid of this guy. I don’t care what happens to everyone else, I just want him dead.” He frowned, and only felt guilty that he didn’t feel anything for the people he’d called his best friends. But, it wasn’t like they’d felt anything not trusting him, and now they were all dealing with the consequences.

“You hate him more than me, don’t you?” Peter inquired, and watched Stiles grow increasingly quiet. But, the smell of absolute anguish was covering him, and Peter loved seeing the rage filling those bambi eyes. “You want to beat the living hell out of him yourself, but the little orphan isn’t strong enough. You’re not strong enough to do this on on your own, just like you weren’t strong enough to protect your Daddy.” He prodded.

Stiles slowly got off of the bed, and did what came to mind immediately. He shot his fist forward to slam into Peter’s stupid face, but hadn’t expected for the man to calmly catch his fist right in his hand. Peter stared up into his eyes with a soft smile, and his radiance only grew when he noticed the tears welling up. The sight of the fragile state he was slowly entering made something rush through him, and exhilarating sensation.

“And that’s why you’re here, you’re going to be the one who gets my revenge for me..” Stiles shakily breathed, and refused to cry or break down in front of this man. He pushed back the hurt feelings, because grieving wasn’t going to help him right now. Grieving would only pull him further into a never-ending pool of depression.

“Precisely, and after, well you’re all mine, Stiles.” Peter points out, lifting his other hand up to stroke his fingers through the teen’s hair, a little comfort wouldn’t hurt, would it? “You know this, don’t you?” Peter asked him, and trailed his hand down along his cheek, before reaching his neck. He let his claws slowly seep from the tips of his nails, lightly scratching along the pulsing vein in his neck that he could easily tear open. “Once I do this one little thing for you, you’re mine to do what I want, when I want.”

Stiles’ breathing slows, and possibly he feels a little violated at Peter touching him this way. The older man’s hands are warm, not cold or as rough as he’s expecting. Maybe, he’s sick, that’s it. He’s sick, because he swears that he isn’t being seduced by this asshole. “Yeah. I got it.” He licks over his dry lips, and Peter’s gaze is blinding with joy.

 Later in the night, Stiles quietly leans against the bathroom counter with Peter at his side, and stares at the dagger that will be used in the spell to bind them together. It’s simple, and more simpler than Stiles had ever imagined. Once he does this, he’ll be connected to Peter, and something inside of him finds it entirely humorous that he’s in this position. If he could go back in time, he’d of never gone into the preserve. Picking up the knife, he turns to face Peter and pulls the man’s arm into his grasp.

“If you’re wrong, and this doesn’t work, I’ll heal. But, you, you’ll bleed out and get it everywhere.” Peter comments, and grows irritated seeing how focused the normally spastic teenager is, he wants to see him screw up.

Stiles offers a small smile, and lays Peter’s arm on the counter beside of his own. “You do care, and it doesn’t suit you.” He carefully placed the edge of the blade on his wrist, and slowly dragged it down along his skin as the pain shot up through his system.

Chapter Text

 Peter ran his fingers through his hair with an amused gaze at the scene in front of him. He leaned back against the bathroom wall, staring down on the inside of his wrist where the decently, two inch sized cut had turned into a scar of all things. It made his face turn, knowing that he now had a disgusting, flawed piece of flesh on his skin. Through the fire, it had taken years and the purposeful death of his niece to heal his body. And unfortunately, that power was gone because his idiot nephew couldn’t take care of it properly. But the longer he thought about it, his nephew wasn’t entirely at fault right now. The one at fault for this was already unconscious, lying passed out on the bathroom floor. He’d of wished for death, but now that they were ‘connected’, he guessed he had to change a centimeter, at least, of his thought process.

On the floor beneath him, Stiles was sprawled out and unconscious. Peter remembered several previous conversations with his older sister about the frailness of humans, how they were so breakable and many of them were just asking to be snapped in half. He’d also noticed how many of them tended to get brain dead very easily from too many hits to the head. From what he’d seen, Stiles had received one too many hits to that thick skull of his. It was amazing to Peter that he wasn’t already in a coma, or sick from the lack of brain cells. But, considering they now somewhat shared the same brain, Peter hadn’t let him hit the floor. Against his amusement of wanting to see him drop to the floor, Peter had swiftly caught the orphan before he could slam straight down into the tile.

Looking to the bathroom door, Peter was severely tempted to go off and leave him lying on the bathroom floor. He’d eventually wake up, and all Peter would have to do was wait for him to wake up, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He doubted anybody was even looking for him after that escape as well. They were probably embarrassed enough that a seventeen year old teenage boy had slipped right through them, or there was also the fact that they really didn’t give two shits. He made it twenty-seven steps to halfway down the stairs, before he found himself turning back around for the unknown reason plaguing his mind.

“Okay Stiles, if I find that every single thing wrong with you affects me, I think I’m just going to kill myself, really.” Peter told him, before lifting him effortlessly over his shoulder. He furrowed his brows at the long, lanky, spaghetti legs that just dangled loosely over his chest, and wondered if there was even any bones inside. Rolling his eye at the unimportant questions coming from his head, he carried him from the bathroom across the hall back into his bedroom. Dropping him onto the bed, Peter sat down on the edge as he observed the others wrist for the first time, particularly the scar. Almost exactly in comparison to his own, it had closed up faster than a human’s wound normally would.

To his own disbelief, the spell, slash curse somehow had actually worked out more than he thought it would. He’d watched Stiles struggle to not flinch or make a sound of pain, before getting his own amusement at the boy actually having the guts to cut into his own skin. It was nothing Peter had expected for him to overcome, but Stiles actually did it. The blood had fallen into a pool together on the counter, and when Stiles started up with the chant that seemed to come from an infant’s mouth, more of the warm, red liquid began to seemingly pour out from their respective wounds into a , before slowly the blood had began to seep straight back into each other’s arms from the pool that dispersed in a matter of seconds, leaving behind not even a stain on the counter-top. Just as it had closed, there had gone Stiles with his eyes rolling into the back of his head, and the boy’s body heading straight for the floor unconscious.

“There you go Peter, one good thing to the list of good deeds. Preventing an orphan boy from giving himself brain damage.” Peter told himself with a small smirk, and got up from the boy’s bed to go find something more intriguing to entertain himself with.

 The last time Stiles remembered his head feeling this shitty, it was the anniversary of Allison’s death. Scott was as expected, somber and grieving, while Kira had been there right after him to help him feel better. Lydia had gone off to do her own thing, which consisted of brightening up Allison’s grave a little. He’d expected his own significant other, Malia to be there for himself, but she’d claimed to have no feelings for Allison as she didn’t even know her. Stiles had tried to reason that Allison had been someone important to him, so therefore she had to be a little supportive. But, nothing was going to get through her thick head. So, that had led him that night to getting drunk all by himself, and having an entire conversation with himself. He knew that much, but he couldn’t even remember what the conversation had even been about.

Remembering the events of earlier after another silent minute, he attempted to sit up and observed his arm for an open wound, but found himself stuck. “Holy shit.” He gaped, and struggled to get out of the tucked burrito he was inside of. There was no way Peter had rolled him into a blanket, or had even put him in his bed. “Peter!” He yelled, and was already thinking the worst.

The semi psychotic werewolf was liable to have left him tied up, or he didn’t doubt leave him slowly dying. Yeah, Stiles knew he was probably already dying, the gaping wound on his wrist was most likely open and his arm was probably numb. That’s why he wasn’t in pain, it was just his head. “Fu-.”

“Now, now. Is this the thanks I get for trying to be what do you call it, a decent person?”

Stiles raised his head up towards the door, and gave him a look of frustration as he wiggled helplessly. “What did you do? Get me out of this thing!”

Peter smiled sweetly, leaning the against the doorway with no movement whatsoever. “I did no such thing, you just happened to fall out of the bed ten minutes after I put you in it. You’re welcome, mind you.” He added.

Stiles pursed his lips, knowing that was possibly something that could have happened. “So, the burrito I’m stuck in?”

“I’m already getting some of the side effects from you, I don’t need something else like brain damage affecting me too.” Peter ridiculed, before walking towards him with no sign of removing him from inside of the tightly wrapped blanket.

“What? It worked then?! “How? What happened? How do you know it’s working? We’re connected now?” Stiles rambled just a little too fast, and his earlier conversation of wanting to know why he was in the burrito disappeared.

“I was going to finish my story of how I’m like two percent good, but yeah, it worked.” Peter dropped down onto the foot of the bed, reaching to help him escape the tightly inescapable hold of the blanket.

Stiles really wanted to ask him how he knew about wrapping people up like that, but decided against it as he tried to focus on what was more important. Springing upwards, he looked to his wrist where’d he cut into, but only found a scar. Running his fingers gently over the wound, he turned his gaze over to Peter who seemed oddly docile.

“We’re matching now.” Peter offered, and held up his own wrist with more distaste in his words. Stiles observed the older man’s wrist with curious eyes, and noticed the small incision he’d made had left a similar looking scar. “But besides that, you passed out right after you finished babbling, blood flooded right back into our limbs. It was disgusting, really.”

Stiles had known there was a possibility of himself blacking out, but he was amazed he’d even lasted that long at all. You’d think, with all the grimacing sights he’d seen over the last few years that he’d be used to it all, but this only proved that theory wrong. “I don’t have a bump.”

Peter looked up from his lap, and shrugged looking mindlessly up to the ceiling. “Like I said, I don’t need brain damage, therefore I didn’t just let you fall and hit your head. Humans are delicate, break like glass, you’d of probably dented your brain. Taking you to your bed, it was easier to examine you, position you as I wanted.”

Stiles didn’t know whether to take that as an insult, or an honest answer to his statement about the lack of damage on his skull. But, he was positive it was something between the two, definitely leaning more to an insult. “Thanks, I think.”

Peter nodded quietly, and a long silence suddenly filled the air between them both. Stiles watched Peter with a silent gaze, noticing the bored, and yet tired look that actually covered his face. He knew Peter hadn’t sat at his bedside the entire time, but was it possible he’d been listening to him from wherever he’d been around in the house. It was maybe just a little bit of wishful thinking, but Stiles doubted Peter would fess up to something that cheesy.

“Sorry for the scar, I know you’re all about perfection, stuff like that.” Stiles offered, and found himself laying right back down in the bed.

Peter’s lips twitched upwards a little, and he watched the human lay right back down. “I am perfect, scar or no scar.”

Stiles closed his eyes, and told himself he was only resting his eyes. “It’ll heal though, right?” He asked.

“It should, depends though, that was some powerful magic that could have killed you. I was kind of waiting for it to.” Peter watched with just a little interest now, and stretched his legs out in front of him on the opposite side. It had taken more out of him then he’d thought, the spell had been powerful.

Stiles softly mumbled his response, and let sleep claim with the feel of something hot filling the atmosphere around himself. He didn’t mind it, it was warm.

Peter told himself he was only laying down beside of him in case he rolled off again, that was it. It wasn’t because he cared for him, Peter didn’t care for anything, especially not the orphan stealing his body heat.

Chapter Text

 It's been at least two weeks since he last saw his pack, since everyone around abandoned him and have been acting like they’re nothing to each other. He’s been going through everyday, redressing the wounds on his body, and trying to figure out how exactly he’s going to save everyone and start healing normally again.

Nobody’s heard anything from Kira, and her parent’s won’t tell him anything. Liam is still angry, he’s angry that he didn’t give Hayden the bite to save her and argues with him that things could be different right now. Malia is completely standoffish, and refuses to get involved because she has her own problems and life to worry about. A day later, he’s informed her body was found decapitated, but there’s no evidence pointing to her mother who is also long gone.

The one left is Lydia, who won’t speak to him at all. He remembers coming across her and Parrish that night. Her makeup is all messed up, she’s shaking, and when her eyes land on him they’re full of rage. She screams at him, and it makes something in his head pained at the pitch. She yells at him what Theo did to her, what he would have done if Parrish hadn’t been there to stop him. He argues back like he did with Stiles, because they all trusted him. Lydia looks ready to strike him, but Parrish grabs her before she can do anything and ushers her away to go get checked at the hospital.

Finally, there’s Stiles. The last time he came across Stiles, it was in the hospital. Stiles had launched himself at him, screaming and in tears as he wrongly attacked him out of anger. Stiles didn’t realize, he’d tried to help him save his father, and had done everything he possibly could to help. Stiles had only stared back at him with this look in his eyes, he’d never seen him so angry before, and he didn’t know how to try to make him understand that it wasn’t all his fault. Stiles had trusted him too, they all had trusted Theo and they’d all been played.

When he asks his mother about Stiles, she tells him the same thing. It’s going to take time, Stiles is hurting, he just lost his only family. He complains to her that they’re also his family, that he’s his brother, and he should be there for him. She tells him give it another week, and so he does, but by the next week there’s still no answer from Stiles.

When the Sheriff’s funeral comes along, he and his mom go to pay their respects. It’s attended by a lot of the town, the pack included even though they’re all ignoring each other. But, Stiles is nowhere to be found, he also learns that the Sheriff is already buried next to his wife. The next day he goes to Stiles’ house, only to learn that it's been sold and there’s mountain ash lining the entire perimeter. Even then, he can’t cross through so he doesn’t know where his best friend is.

He arrives home at the end of the day, coming across Chris Argent standing outside of his house with a troubled look in his eyes. His own eyes soon mimic Chris’, and learns that Peter Hale has apparently escaped out of Eichen House. The photographs are clear it wasn’t without spilling any blood, and he observes the pictures showing the three bodies. One corpse looks like he had his throat torn out, the other was face down on the floor and unrecognizable, but the third, it had to be the most gruesome. The corpse was leaned up against the cell, arms dangling limply, and blood was in a pool coming out of his mouth with the man’s eyes wide open. The night he escaped was apparently the day after the Sheriff’s death, so he figures with everything going on around them that’s why nobody noticed or heard anything. But, then again it’s also Eichen.

He wonders how Peter managed to escape past mountain ash barriers, how he fought even though they were keeping him highly drugged. Chris informs him, his guess is that they simply forgot Peter was even there. So when this happened, Peter probably was planning to escape when he gained his strength back. But, that all changed because Peter did have help, as unrealistic as it sounds, someone deliberately went in there to help him escape.

 Later on, they recruit Parrish to help them gain access to the footage from the security cameras that night. Somehow, he regains Lydia in the process, and Deaton drops by to also inform them of something.

The footage that plays shocks everyone. It shows Stiles entering the Eichen House, but it never shows him exiting the place. Immediately he’s in disbelief, because Stiles wouldn’t go in there and help Peter, he couldn’t. Peter had tried to kill them all, why would Stiles go back for someone who wanted them all dead?

Deaton is the one who speaks up, to inform them that one of his books is missing. It's a specific book and entirely wrapped around spells that bind people together, or force them into submission for an eternal period of times. He says it’s possible that Stiles has a plan for something, but he can’t figure out what part Peter is supposed to play in all of this.

He doesn’t believe that Stiles would do something like that, something so stupid. Chris tells him that Stiles has something he’s planning. He reminds them all of Allison, how when she lost her mother, she turned to revenge. It's possible, Stiles is going down the same route.

They all quickly devise a plan, but they also need to find Stiles and Peter in order to officiate that plan. Deaton quickly devises a tracking spell, and using a article of clothing belonging to Stiles is more than enough.

 They’re so calm and collected around each other, it’s like none of the events of the past couple of years have even mattered to them at all, like they don’t exist. Stiles is curled up underneath Peter, the expected look of panic and shock written all over his face, it’s gone. The scent of tears that should still be left behind, there’s no sign of them ever actually being there at all. They both look at ease around each other, and it sickens him inside.

“We can do this, yeah?” Stiles glances back at Peter from where he’s spooning him from behind, and he makes a face once he notices that the wolf seems to actually be asleep. “You’re not fooling anybody, Peter.” He huffs, and reaches over to thread his fingers through the older man's hair, before he roughly tugs. Just as soon as he does that, Peter reaches up with one hand and grabs the top of Stiles' skull roughly, making him softly yelp. 

“This plan is going to work. Don't you see it's already in motion, and our first obstacle has been watching us for over an hour. So, you can go ahead and check that off of the list.” 

Chapter Text

 Stiles dropped the load of flat boxes down onto the floor of the living room, and the constant feeling of still being watched rose high inside of him. That night, Peter had said that Scott had been sitting outside of the window of his bedroom for almost a good thirty minutes exactly. Then, he just up and disappeared, which Stiles had never been more thankful for. He’d expected everything from how he’d betrayed him, to how could he help someone like Peter Hale escape from Eichen House.

It had already been five days since then, and so far all of Stiles’ expectations had disappeared. Nobody had came banging at the door, or breaking in the house to question what the hell he was doing. It should be affecting him, how his plan was ruined, his friends no longer looking like friends, his ex girlfriend’s death, but he couldn’t feel a thing. Peter told him he was most likely turning into an emo , and Stiles had turned around to ask him how he even knew of the term with his old age. Peter had promptly turned around, shoved him off of the bed.

Glancing to the sofa, he stared at the back of the said werewolf with a raised brow. Peter, regardless of his earlier words about not sleeping or caring if he came back, was seemingly sound asleep. The thing was, he could have sworn that he’d seen Peter standing there in the next aisle inside of the U-Haul store an hour or so earlier.

In the beginning of having Peter around him, the other had been fairly talkative, sarcastic, and a total ass. But, thinking to earlier times, Peter had never not been a total asshole. The wolf was alert, expressing distaste at everything and anything. There were the hundreds of times he’d referred to him as ‘orphan’, going on about how death was truthfully peaceful, and how he had to realize that bringing back the dead was ninety-nine percent impossible. The one percent? Peter Hale was that percent that was apparently immortal. 

He’d stabbed the wolf’s hand with a butter knife earlier in the middle of the week before last, and then got up to go and take care of his own bleeding hand that started not a second after. Oddly enough, Peter had simply laughed removing the eating utensil. Stiles himself, he couldn’t believe that he actually joined in on that laughter.

When they’d finished their unnecessary pit of laughter, Stiles had turned around to lean back against the counter, holding a now bloody dish towel around the wound on his hand. It was then, when he took notice of Peter’s expression going strangely silent. Silent enough, that Stiles had felt the decency to actually ask him what was wrong and where was his sane, yet psychotic, werewolf.

Expecting a punch for that possessive pronoun, he looked down to Peter’s expression but only found a enticing, yet silent gaze and the wolf, without any emotion in his voice asked him one question that made it seem like he actually cared. Peter asked him if he was okay. Peter Hale, evil, cunning, and manipulative asked him if he was okay?

Stiles wasn’t completely taken aback by the question, and thought for a good moment that he could always catch Peter in the act, before he acted. He didn’t care about him, he didn’t give two shits about how he was feeling right now. But, Stiles knew he could also pretend that the werewolf did give two shits about him. At least, just to make himself feel better.

Looking Peter right back in the eyes, he told him everything he was feeling inside. He told him he was mad, mad at himself that he’d dragged everyone into this hidden world that should've remained as such. If he hadn’t gone and dragged Scott into the woods that night, everything would still be as it was last year. Yeah, Peter would have probably killed a lot more other people, possibly would still be an Alpha, but none of his friends would be dead, his father wouldn't be dead.

Peter had looked at him with that same, stupid gaze of nothing. There was no humor in his eyes, or amusement written all over his face and something about it ticked him off. Peter wasn't a kind person, and he was only looking out for himself. Whatever he did, it was to benefit solely himself.

It was only when he noticed the space between him shut close, that he noticed Peter directly inside of his personal space. Before he could ask him what he was doing, Peter took a grip of his chin so he was looking directly up into the older man’s eyes. Tensing, Stiles was frozen in place, unable to remember any of the human language that he knew.

“Death is a very greedy bitch,” Peter had stated. “It doesn’t choose you because of the things that you’ve done in your life, it takes you because it can.” Stiles was still frozen stiff in his hold, and the rough, yet comforting touch to the back of his head quickly had him melting reluctantly.

“One way, or another, your Daddy was going to die, and you were always meant to be an orphan.”

Stiles remembered hitting Peter’s chest with his fist, and pointing out that, that was the lamest lie of comfort in history. He mocked him for actually believing in that stupid shit, and thought he honestly smacked him on his perfect face, but all Peter had done in response was simply smirked, calling him a cry baby as he crumbled in the wolf’s, arms and promised that Death wouldn’t be taking him anytime soon, because Stiles belonged to him.

Stiles figured he must have cried himself to sleep that night, because when he regained conscious he found himself upstairs in his bed with the werewolf crushing him. At first, he’d been pretty pissed off that he’d let himself be fake comforted, but then he told himself to screw it, it worked and helped him.

In the next few weeks, Stiles didn’t know what the hell they were. The idea of calling themselves packmates was overrated, cheesy, and a whole list of other nonsense. Friends? Not even.  But, whatever they were, they were tied together by fate.

Somehow, Stiles found himself putting his trust in the hands that he really shouldn’t trust. Peter had convinced him to sell the house he’d grown up in, because once they left Beacon Hills there was a very small chance either of them would come back.

Stiles didn’t know how Peter had done it, but the man had actually sold the house quicker than he thought possible.  Peter had disappeared the morning after that conversation, and then he’d returned later that day with a very thick envelope. He didn’t tell him how exactly he’d sold it, but then again Stiles didn’t want to know how exactly Peter became realtor.

When looking at it all, Stiles had figured he honestly didn’t want a lot of stuff that was physically inside of the house. A couple of photographs, items that had belonged to both of his parents. Going through it all, all over again left him a little depressed. But, lucky him, he had a bitchy werewolf to lighten the mood.

Back to the present, here he was with the last bit of stuff that would be stored away. Everywhere else in the house, boxes sat packed away and labeled. The only room that had yet to be packed up was the living room, and honestly there wasn’t much in here he was keeping.

It was difficult, because he knew this was the last bit of stuff remaining, and once they had everything locked away, it would be a long time before he ever saw anything else. Possibly, it would be the last time if they even made it out of town alive.

“Keep on going into deep thoughts like that, and we’ll be here another week.” Stiles raised his head, turning to catch Peter’s gaze. The man had woken up at some point, and was sitting up on the couch with a more cheerful than needed gaze.

“Finish up this last box, I’m going to grab the remaining ones and take them out to the storage. While I’m gone, you’ll probably end up with that visitor I’ve been dreading all week.” Peter explained, getting up from the couch and popping his neck.

“I hate that sound, and I know. The plan, it’s embedded in my head.” Stiles grumbled, and attempted to mimic the movement of his head.

“You’ll break your neck, and if you’re going to do that you should at least inform me so I can do it myself.” Peter beamed, and with the affection of an asshole, he lightly pulled at Stiles’ hair just as he jabbed Peter in the ribs.

 Twenty minutes later, Peter was driving off with the truck load of boxes to be put in the storage and Stiles was watching from the window. This was it, and right on schedule he listened to the back door opening.

“Hey Scott.”

Turning around, Stiles looked to his former best friend that stood there confidently as always. The lack of blood on his abdomen told him he was finally healing, and the True Alpha looked like he’d been sleeping soundly for the last couple of weeks. So, his next step in their plan wouldn’t make him feel so bad for what he was so close to completing.

“Stiles, what are you doing?” Scott questioned, and Stiles had to bite down on his bottom lip to stop himself from just doing what he wanted ahead of time.

“I’m going to do what needs to be done, the thing you won't do.” Stiles shrugged, and dropped down onto the couch previously occupied by Peter.

“Peter!? Stiles, Peter tried to kill us all! Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in if they find out that you were involved in his escape?”

“So did, Theo and his doctors. But, we can let that go and let him run wild even though he's the reason my Dad is dead. Also, Eichen House has more than Peter or I to worry about.” Stiles frowned, pulling on a pair of black, rubber gloves over his hands.

“I get it, you're hurt and I'm sorry! I'm sorry, this is all my fault, but please, think about it, you're going to end up taking another li-.”

“Donovan was self defense, and if you’d believed someone you’ve known almost your entire life you’d see that.” Stiles calmly interrupted him, and stood up from the couch. “I don’t care if you’ll end up hating me later, my mind is made up.”

Stiles headed for the front door, and just like Peter had told earlier while they were orchestrating everything, he was pinned to the door not a minute later. “Stiles, I can’t let you do this.”

Staring back into the glowing red eyes, Stiles shook his head. “I’m not one of your puppies, you’re not my Alpha.” He pointed out, before lifting his hands up to gently grip Scott’s face in his hands, and from his index finger out came a dab of liquid that fell onto the Alpha’s cheek.

Scott’s face went from solemn to anger in that short amount of seconds, and Stiles watched the Alpha wolf drop down onto its back, paralyzed. Something about this, it sent waves of relief through him knowing that Scott could do nothing. “Don’t bother trying to fight it, it’s not from a fake Kanima like Tracy. It belonged to Jackson, and Gerard kept a pretty good amount inside of a jar that Peter swiped.”

“Stiles, you don’t know what you’re doing!” Scott yelled.

Stiles stepped over his body on the floor, and grabbed the two thick duffle bags that were hidden behind the sofa once he heard the engine of Peter’s truck out front right on schedule.

“If it wasn’t for me, you would never be in this mess, for that, I’m sorry.” He watched him mentally struggle on the ground, before quickly escaping out of the house and closed the door behind him. Jogging to the truck by the street, Stiles tossed the bags into the backseat and climbed inside.

“Just a couple of more steps, then we’ll be out of here Orphan.”

“I know, finally.”

Chapter Text

Stiles released a tired breath as he reached the Nemeton’s stump, and sat down atop of it to rest. Deaton had claimed it was impossible to find the Nemeton months earlier, but yet Peter’s directions had led him straight to this stupid tree. He’d never fully trusted Deaton, because if that man was so smart he’d of informed Scott way ahead of time about everything. He wouldn’t have spoken to them in overused riddles at the last minute after someone was dead.

Hearing the sound of branch crack a few feet away at best, Stiles lifted his head with a smile upon the site he’d expected. Theo Raeken shifting back from his fake coyote-wolf, into his disgusting, nude form. This only proved one of his earlier theories about this guy, he was trying to become a mix of Scott and Derek.  

“Sorry, I hate to tell you this, but there’s only one guy that can pull off walking naked through the forest on a regular basis. He’s in São Paolo, because he was smart enough to get out of this town.” Stiles commented.

Theo smiled with a amused roll of his eyes, and walked around him to pick up a bag. “Well, if you insist.”

Stiles felt vomit fill the inside of his mouth, and the feel of being harassed without being prodded at was heavy. “Do you want to enlighten me what exactly you came here for? From what I can tell, the dread doctors don’t even like you, not that I blame them.”

“Oh, Stiles. Like I said, I came here for all of his pack, and you can thank me later when you’re happier with me.” Theo pointed out, pulling up the zipper on his jeans before taking a step towards the stump.

Stiles rolled his eyes, and was pretty sure that every word that came out of his mouth was either rehearsed, or they came straight out of his ass. “Seriously? Do you just say whatever comes to the top of your head, or did you get these lines off of some terribly written, supernatural television show on MTV ?”

Pushing himself off of the stump, Stiles was quick to feign attempt to escape the relentless wannabe werewolf. Taking one step forward, he didn’t think he’d ever been more proud of himself for naturally being clumsy as he tripped over a root from the tree, crashing face first into the ground. There was no way he could have faked this.

“Still trying to kill yourself I see, I really do think Eichen would be a good place for you. It’s a great medical facility, completely safe. You could even take your puppy back with you, from what I heard, you broke him out.” Theo laughed.

Stiles felt the urge to pull out the case of needles soaked in Kanima venom out from inside of his jean pocket, but who knew if it would even work on wannabe were-creature boy. Mountain ash didn’t seem to have an, and Peter had only agreed with him. If the barrier hadn’t kept him, why would the paralyzing venom stop him from moving a muscle.

Placing his hands on the ground, Stiles moved to push himself up from the ground but paused feeling the heat of another body right behind his. Nope. No. This fu-, “Get. Off.” He glowered.

“I can help you, really, really help you.” Theo smirked, dragging his claws down along the back of his neck.

“I’m fine here on the ground.” Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat, silently wishing for Peter to hurry up. The last thing he was trying to do was listen for Peter, because that would release the smell of worry. But, he severely doubted Theo was even smart enough to figure that out so what the hell.

“You’ll bleed out, die right here, just like your dad, the irony.”

Stiles did the only thing that came to mind in his head, and he snapped his head backwards, crashing the back of his head straight into Theo’s stupid face. Scrambling up from the ground, he couldn’t believe the pain in the back of his head. Turning around, he lurched forward to give Theo another hit to his face, but found himself pinned down to the ground once more.

Theo laughed, watching him squirm beneath him with his eyes filled of anger and unshed tears. That was all he wanted to see, he wanted to see him cry and slowly break apart in front of him piece by piece. Once he was finished, he’d find that little fly again that was sadly locked away inside of its cage. “Soon, I’m going to watch it come out.”

Stiles recoiled feeling a sickness fall into his stomach, and the idea of being not in control of himself once again was terrifying. He'd involuntarily had helped that demon kill a lot of people the last time, and the idea of finding more bodies made him sick. Nobody knew where that fly was hidden away, but he had a feeling Deaton hadn’t exactly hidden it in a place nobody would be able to find it.

“Why so quiet? I mean before you just wouldn’t shut up about me, and I have to wonder now just what is it you’re planning?” Theo questioned him, releasing the grip he had on his shoulders just a little. He felt like Stiles was stalling, making time for something, and he didn’t doubt that it was the Hale that he’d broken out of Eichen House.

Dragging him upwards to where their faces almost touched, Theo deliberately placed them within centimeters of each other. “What don't I know, Stiles? Do share, you know I'll found out with or without you telling me.”

Shrugging, Stiles turned his gaze back towards Theo with a blank smile. “Oh no, looks like you’ve found me out. What will my psycho and I do now?” He pondered in a apathetic tone, as he looked around for the said werewolf.

Theo immediately released him from his grasp, and stood back up straight. “You really think if Scott or them couldn’t stop me, that a Omega like him can do me any damage?” He questioned, and turned his gaze away giving Stiles the moment he needed. Lurching forward, Stiles brought his fist back and aimed straight for his stupid face. In seconds though, Theo caught the oncoming fist with an amused smile and just a slightly bored gaze.

Stiles frowned, and his face turned into pain seconds later as a scream of pain ripped past his throat. He crumbled towards the ground, using his free hand to attempt to pull his broken hand out of Theo’s strong hold.

“Oh Stiles, I really did want to be your friend.” Theo sighed apathetically staring down into his eyes, and there they were, the tears he’d been wanting to see. “We don’t always get what we want though.”

Stiles wondered if he was going to physically rip his arm off now, but then everything came to a stop.  Theo’s grip on his hand was gone, and there was blood everywhere. It had happened too fast, and Stiles blinked a couple of times to make sure what he was actually seeing was real.

Peter was behind Theo, covered from his jaw to the white v-neck in blood. With the back of his hand, he wiped it over his mouth with a shake of his head. “Plan A didn’t go according to, but B sure as hell worked.” He huffed, pushing the limp, yet unfortunately still breathing body over to the side. Theo’s throat was entirely torn out, and his eyes glowed gold staring up at Peter.

“I was kind of bored to be honest, waiting, but then I saw this little spoiled, brat was trying to play with my toys.” Peter shook his head, and kicked over the bleeding body. “Staring like that, your parents didn’t obviously teach you any manners.” He tsked, before calmly squatting down where Stiles was still trying to process everything.

“I’m not your toy, but thanks.” Stiles spoke up, holding his broken hand protectively close to his chest.

Peter watched him with a small frown, observing the now shattered hand he held close. It was obvious now that he wouldn’t be able to do it, “You should have used your non dominate hand, but I guess, well no I don’t guess, I’d be able to kill someone with both of my hands.” He proudly boasted.

Stiles stared up to Peter’s wolfed out, bloody face with a small frown. “I wanted to do it, and even more so now.”

Peter smiled, and casually he got up from the ground and moved over towards Theo who was still breathing, looking to be focused on healing. “I’ve heard so much about you, can’t say I’ll miss you though,” he admitted, gripping Theo’s head by his temples. “Stiles was going to kill you, but that’s what I’m here for, I’m the ‘pack mate’, so to say.”

Stiles watched the execution scene entirely as Peter’s hands moved so elegantly in a certain way. The crunching sound, sounded, and Theo’s head came off just like that.  

Chapter Text

 Stiles sucked in breath as Peter tightened his hand in his dominant hand, and cursed Theo Raeken’s name under his breath. Although they were bonded together, Peter’s own dominant hand seemed fine thanks to his werewolf healing powers. He himself unfortunately did not inherit that ability, as nice as it would have been.

Currently, they were now hidden away in the secret root cellar that Peter had decided to disclose personally. Though, it wasn’t really the biggest surprise in the world. He was known to keep secrets, and this eerily similar lair was just the one underneath the stupid tree. He could only hope this one didn’t bury them alive.

Peter had diagnosed it as broken, possibly fractured or shattered. While the idea of going to the hospital to actually get it taken care of had crossed his mind, immediately he’d decided against it. Melissa was bound to see him, and he knew she wouldn’t let him leave like that. He’d be unable to ignore her, not like he’d been able to do with everything else.

Stiles could physically see the black trendles traveling up through Peter’s veins. Although he’d seen it multiple times on others and his own arm, this time he was actually more invested watching it. The black substance was the physical manifestation of his own pain, and Peter was absorbing it all.

Scott and Derek had always had their own pained expression, but Peter’s face was stoic. He'd always thought that when they took away the pain, just maybe they also unknowingly were consuming the feelings of that pain. But, maybe he was wrong this time.

“You can stop now, it doesn't h—” Stiles cut himself with an agonizing cry of pain. If not for the already strong grip, gripping on tightly, he would have already wretched his hand away from him. “God, you didn't give two shits earlier.”

“I didn’t, but I can’t have you giving off the smell of a little animal dying.” Peter shrugged, concentrating without a flicker of emotion crossing his face.

“Fine. It does, hurt. But, it’s okay. You don’t have to do that. I mean, doesn’t it hurt you to do this?” Stiles interrogated, having seen both Scott and Derek before in different states when they absorbed pain.

“I’m not human.”

Stiles blinked, wondering why he was stating the obvious and avoiding his question. “Yeah, but you can still feel pain. Even if you’re not showing it, I know it must do something to you inside.”

“Pain makes you human, and I figure you should want to feel something like that after the last couple of days.” Peter rolled his eyes. “After all, I just killed an annoying, pompous little hybrid animal for you, when I do things like this you’re all after me for what a terrible person I am.”

Stiles was about to argue with him, but stopped himself because it was true. Peter wasn’t a nice person, and there wasn’t really anything he could say to make it feel like he was. Sure, he’d comforted him at one point, was doing this, but it wasn’t for him. Everything Peter did was for his own gain. “Okay, I get what you’re saying, you’re not a nice person.”

“Glad we’ve established that, and you’ve talked enough to make this go quicker. It’s healed, not entirely, but good enough for right now.” Peter carefully wrapped his hand in bandages that he’d found in a first-aid kit,  tucked away in the backseat of the truck.

“Thanks, I think.” Stiles ignored the hold that had disappeared from his hand, and made it a point to tell himself he hadn’t just liked the idea of Peter holding his hand. Nope, it was probably just the comfort seeking emotion inside of him.

Looking to Peter’s hands that were working with cleaning up the mess he’d made looking for the bandages, Stiles wondered for a minute if Peter’s hand was actually alright. Sure, Peter healed faster, but Theo had relatively been dead for forty minutes.

Reaching over to grab it, he pursed his lips when the wolf hid it quickly behind his back. “Peter, let me see.” He sighed, and reached forward with his left hand, wrapping his hand around Peter’s wrist. The second his hand was gripping lightly onto Peter’s wrist, his back immediately met the wall of the root cellar.

Peter had him pinned to the wall of the root cellar, glowering at him threateningly. “Let go, If not, I will bite your hand off.”

Ignoring the threatening gaze and words above him, he figured he had nothing to lose really. Looking it over calmly, he gently brushed his fingers along the bruises covering it. “Sorry, you’re taking care of me, even though you really don’t want to be taking care of me.”

Glancing upwards, it looked like Peter seemed to relax, and the weight that pinned him to the wall eased up just a little. Stiles quietly compared their right hands together, noting the bruises in the exact places, but his own was still definitely more battered. “Does it hurt?”

Peter rolled his eyes, and pulled his hand back, Stiles didn’t try to argue with him as he watched him head for the entrance of the root cellar. He’d gotten what he wanted, and now Stiles did kind of a feel bad for being the cause of his hand bruising like that, even if he could heal rapidly.

Pushing open the cellar door, Stiles watched as Peter dramatically decided to jump straight out of the root cellar which was a good height all by itself. “I’m not human, but you’re my human Stiles. It means that I’m going to be caring you until I see no more use.” He commented.

Stiles’ face entirely dropped, and walked over to where Peter stood seconds ago. Shaking his head, he began to carefully climb the steps up to follow Peter. “Yeah, like I told the guy that’s now dead, dramatics don’t suit you, just like nudity didn’t suit him.”

 They’ve been on the road already for about two hours, and Stiles feels so relieved to finally be out of Beacon Hills. He knows what he’s doing is stupid, insensitive, and he’s probably left open wounds over the last couple of days in the people who care about him. Maybe, one day he’ll actually apologize. 

He’s leaving everything behind, and small pain feels his heart realizing that he’s left the one thing he promised to never abandon. Roscoe, his old bruised and battered Jeep is sitting inside of the storage along with everything else Peter helped him store. The payments for the storage will automatically be withdrawn from a bank account that holds the money he received for the house.

He gave up everything for revenge, and the only thing Stiles wishes he would have done differently was put a bullet of wolfsbane through Theo’s head the moment that he stepped into town. He should have trusted his gut, but reluctantly he let himself fade into the background.

Glancing over to Peter, it’s settling in a little more now that he’s going to be with him probably until the man eventually gets tired of him. But, that plan will backfire because of the bond. From what he knows, there isn’t any sort of reversal to this all. It’s entirely permanent.

“Do you have an idea of where we’re going?” Stiles asked him, and didn’t expect for Peter to actually answer him.

Peter tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, “I  figured some place with no supernatural creatures, out of California.”

Stiles wonders if he could be just a little more specific, but guesses that is better than nothing.

“Scared?” Peters asked, clear amusement in his tone.

“No, you’ve seen what I should be scared of. The idea of a new town isn’t.” Stiles points out, pulling his pillow out from behind his head to lay it half on the window.

“Well, you’re not wrong. Make sure that door is locked, we don’t need you accidentally falling out and killing yourself.”

Stiles sheepishly flushes, and reaches underneath his pillow to push down the lock. With his luck, he probably would accidentally fall out.

The next thirty minutes that pass are in complete silence. The lights of other cars traveling down the same road sometimes illuminate the darkness when they pass them by, and every now and then he sees Peter’s eyes instead of just nothing. He’s never been scared of the dark, and the Nogitsune wasn’t able to scare him to the point of fearing it either.

Closing his eyes, Stiles lets the sound of silence lull him to sleep. He listens to Peter’s fingers that gently tap against the steering wheel every minute or so, and that’s enough for the darkness to drag him under.

When he wakes though, he’s lying atop of a lumpy, uncomfortable mattress in an unidentified room. Panic is quick to set in, but subsides when he sees Peter is lying behind him, looking to be asleep.

Sighing, he moves quietly to lie back down despite knowing that Peter’s ears are very good at catching everything. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“You didn’t, I’d never sleep in a dump like this.” Peter comments, opening his eyes.

“So, why did we stop then?” Stiles asks, and rolled over onto his stomach.

“You needed the sleep, and you’re not small enough to curl up in the front seat like that.” Peter smirks.

“I could have just dealt with it, you could have kept on driving instead of bringing me to get some sleep. Be careful, one might think you actually care about me.” Stiles smiled, and reached out in front of him to stop the oncoming hand to the face he’s already predicted from Peter.

Peter simply grasps Stiles’ hand, gently guiding it down. With his fully healed once, he places it atop of Stiles’ head and gently rubs. “Ulterior motives are my specialty, and you were more appealing when you slept.”

“You want me, don't deny it.” Stiles yawns, and rolls his body over to where his back is against the wolves chest.

“I already own you, I don’t need to want.” Peter clarifies, and releases the hand he’s still holding, to possessively hold the boy.

Within the next couple of minutes, Peter is listening as Stiles falls right back into sleep.

Quietly observing him, Peter scolds himself for letting the human out of everyone in. But, his human isn't just any human. He's curious, observant, and too smart for his own good.

Peter knows he is never letting Stiles go.