Chapter Text
Stiles stretched his legs out along the couch, feeling the satisfying weight of Peter’s arm draped around his shoulders as he nestled into his chest. His laptop rested on his legs, a few paragraphs of his novel open on the screen. The French toast and coffee Peter had made for him still lingered in his thoughts; his stomach was full, his body finally felt less achy, and even his magical reserves, while still drained, felt more stable.
And even though he wasn’t thrilled about it, Peter had told him Talia would be handling Deaton. Peter had asked Stiles to trust that the druid would face proper consequences for tampering with his core. Stiles wanted to deal with the man himself, but as a gesture of trust in their relationship, he was letting Peter handle it.
Just as he was about to dive back into his writing, his phone started buzzing on the cushion next to him. He glanced at the screen, groaning softly when he saw Scott’s name lighting it up. Stiles took a deep breath, rolling his eyes with a sigh as he mentally braced himself.
He was still a bit annoyed with Scott after he’d ditched him—again—for some girl at another house party a few nights ago. But this time, Stiles’ night hadn’t ended with him stranded in the middle of nowhere, waiting for a tow truck. And he hadn’t ended up sleeping with some random wolf he’d met at a bar… Instead, he’d spent the evening snuggled up with a certain wolf, who, somehow, he’d been in a relationship with ever since. They’d read together until Peter eventually coaxed him to bed. A small smile crept onto his lips at the memory.
On the third ring, he finally picked up, just before Peter could make good on his threat to snatch the phone himself.
“Hey, Scotty, what’s up?” Stiles greeted him, keeping his tone neutral but trying not to sound too cold.
“Hey, man!” Scott’s voice came through, his usual upbeat tone making Stiles wonder if he even realized he’d annoyed him. “Just wanted to check in! You okay? Haven’t seen you since that party—”
Stiles held back a sigh. Typical Scott.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles said, unable to keep a little edge out of his voice. “Managed to survive my night after you bailed on me again.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Scott’s voice softened a bit. “Look, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t realize you’d, uh… you know, leave so soon. Honestly, man, I thought you’d find someone else to hook up with.”
Peter let out a low growl at this, his arm tightening around Stiles, who flicked his eyes up to meet Peter’s now-pissed look. Stiles gently squeezed Peter’s hand—a silent reminder that he wasn’t sleeping around with anyone else. In fact, both of them hadn’t been with anyone else since they got together, and neither of them had any plans to change that. They hadn’t officially declared they were in a committed relationship, but neither of them needed to—it was clear.
Stiles had told Scott multiple times that he was with Peter, in a committed relationship. Hell, it had been eight months! Stiles must have told him a thousand times by now that he was off the market. “Yeah, well, that would make me a cheater, wouldn’t it, Scotty?” Stiles replied with a bitter laugh. “Considering the fact I’m with Peter. Like I’ve told you more times than I can count.” Stiles couldn’t hold back the frustration anymore, his anger building. “Seriously, dude, this is the last time I’m going to say it. I’m not interested in any drunken hookups.”
Scott’s voice was quiet for a beat, like he hadn’t expected Stiles to snap back so sharply. “Hey, Stiles, I didn’t mean it like that. I thought, you know… maybe you’d want a bit of freedom, considering…”
“Considering what, Scott?” Stiles cut him off, his frustration bubbling over. “Considering that I’ve been with Peter for months now? I’d think as my friend you’d be a little more supportive and maybe even happy for me. It’s almost been a year, Scott, and you haven’t even met him yet.” Stiles finally snapped, losing his patience. “You’re supposed to be my best friend. But you’re making it really hard for me to convince Peter you’re actually a good one when you keep pulling stuff like this and canceling plans over and over, making it impossible for me to introduce him. Hell, your mom has met him before you have!”
Scott’s voice went even quieter. “I… didn’t realize… I… Shit, okay. You’re right, I’ve been a crappy friend about this whole thing. Look, Stiles… I’m sorry.” He sounded almost sheepish. “I didn’t mean to upset or hurt you, man… If you really want me to meet him, I will. Okay?”
Stiles sighed, kind of done with the conversation at this point. “Good. Thank you. But for now… let’s just leave it for a bit. I appreciate the apology, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still pissed. So let’s just give it a couple of weeks or something… once things aren’t so fresh, we can sort something.”
Scott was silent on the other end for a moment, processing Stiles’s words. “Alright,” he said finally, his voice soft. “I get it. I messed up, and I’ll give you the space you need. Just… let me know when you’re ready, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, feeling the frustration start to ebb, though a lingering hurt remained. “Just… don’t flake next time, Scott. This is important to me.”
“I won’t,” Scott promised, sounding more genuine than he had in a long time. “Take all the time you need, and I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
Stiles ended the call, setting his phone back down with a sigh. Before he could even settle back, Peter’s hand slid up to gently rub his shoulder, a grounding presence. “You okay, little Spark?” Peter asked quietly, his tone carrying warmth.
“Yeah,” Stiles answered, leaning into Peter’s embrace and feeling the steady beat of Peter’s heart against his shoulder. “It’s just… Scott can be such an idiot sometimes, you know? He’s been my best friend forever, but he can be oblivious.”
Peter gave a soft hum, his fingers drawing soothing circles along Stiles’s shoulder. “Sounds like he finally got the message, though. And for what it’s worth,” he added, a hint of teasing in his voice, “I’m very much looking forward to meeting the one person who can frustrate you even more than I can.”
Stiles chuckled, rolling his eyes but relaxing against Peter’s side. “Oh, you two have nothing on each other. Trust me.”
Peter gave him a smirk, tugging him a little closer. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”
It was later in the day when Cora returned to the apartment with her brother, Derek—a guy Stiles had also gone to school with, though they’d barely interacted. Derek was older and had run with a different social circle. All Stiles really knew about him was that Derek had lost a girlfriend named Paige in high school, and it had messed him up for a while. Understandable, losing someone always sucks…
He also knew Derek had been involved with Kate Argent. Or rather, Kate had been grooming him for a while, though that hadn’t lasted long. Kate had made the mistake of getting herself on Stiles’s radar almost immediately after she started at the school. Stiles hadn’t looked too deeply into the Hale kids at the time; all his attention had been on Kate and how to get rid of her.
Because of that, he hadn’t figured out yet that the Hales were werewolves. Sure, he’d had some suspicions when Kate started taking an interest in Derek—he thought maybe there was something supernatural about the Hales. Or it could’ve just been that Kate was a sicko who liked targeting and killing supernatural beings and was a paedophile.
Either way, it didn’t matter to Stiles. She was a killer, a sick woman who liked messing around with teens, and she’d stepped into his sights. So he’d taken her out. It hadn’t taken him long, either. Kate barely paid him any attention at school, and he hadn’t been on her radar as a threat. After about four months of teaching at Beacon Hills under the fake name “Ms. Smith,” Kate Argent disappeared without a trace, never to be heard from again.
After that, more hunters—like Chris Argent, Kate’s brother—came to town, trying to figure out what had happened to her. But, of course, they never found anything. Thinking back on it, Stiles realized the Argents probably just blamed Kate’s “disappearance” on the Hales. Which—oops. He hadn’t intended that, but it didn’t really matter. Stiles had probably saved them from a worse fate anyway. Whatever Kate had planned wouldn’t have been pretty…
So, if the Hale pack had ended up taking the blame, Stiles was okay with it. Consider it payment for whatever horrible nightmare he’d unintentionally saved them from.
Cora and Derek settled into the chair across from Peter and Stiles, Derek’s expression guarded. Stiles could tell from the way Derek’s eyes flicked between him and Peter that he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Stiles—or the fact that Stiles was nestled so comfortably beside his uncle. Stiles raised an eyebrow, daring Derek to say something. Derek didn’t.
Smart move.
Clearing his throat, Derek turned to Peter, immediately getting down to business. “Mom wants you to take a couple of your betas and hunt these witches down. She’s officially labeled them a threat, and they need to be dealt with.”
Peter’s mouth curved into a smile that was all sharp edges. “Good. The faster we deal with this, the better.”
Stiles watched Peter’s eyes shift, revealing the predator beneath. This witch problem had pushed a dangerous button in him. Stiles knew Peter wouldn’t hesitate to do what needed to be done, but he couldn’t help feeling a pang of curiosity—and, if he was honest, a thrill—at the thought of seeing Peter’s more ruthless side in action. At the same time, he knew it was better to step with caution. He didn’t want to get too tangled in pack business; that could end up tying him to Peter in ways he wasn’t ready for.
He was happy with where their relationship was now and didn’t want anything to mess with that.
Still, he frowned when Peter said, “It’ll take me a while to track them down.”
“Why?” Stiles asked, genuinely puzzled.
Derek, Cora, and Peter exchanged a look, as though they couldn’t believe he’d even asked. It was an “is he serious?” look—one of those silent, wolf-telepathy moments that grated on Stiles’s nerves. And it royally ticked him off. He wasn’t the clueless one in the room. He never was. And that one little look had put him in a bitchy mood.
Stiles leaned forward, crossing his arms, annoyed. “Seriously? Why waste your time going full bloodhound when you literally have a druid? Deaton’s supposed to be helping you guys track things like this, isn’t he?”
Cora’s brow furrowed. “Why would we go to Deaton?”
Stiles stared at them both, baffled. Then, suddenly, he couldn’t hold it in—he burst into laughter. “Are you kidding me? Do you seriously have an emissary who doesn’t even do the basics of his job? He’s supposed to use his magic to help the pack! That’s why you keep him around, right? Next thing, you’ll be telling me he doesn’t even ward your territory.” He laughed and looked at Peter, eyes wide in disbelief, giving him a look that begged, Please tell me you aren’t this clueless…
But Cora was the one who spoke up, her mouth opening slightly in shock—a rare expression on her usually stoic face. “There are wards capable of protecting our territory?”
Her words almost made Stiles’s brain short out. They couldn’t be serious. This couldn’t be real. Seriously, this had to be a joke! The Hale pack sold hundreds of different types of magical spells, artifacts, and books on the black market. How could they not know their territory could be warded?
“Of course there is,” Peter said, rolling his eyes, sounding annoyed. “But it’s not part of Deaton’s role to do that.”
Stiles was absolutely gobsmacked at this point—and a little fuming. Partly at Peter, for being clueless in this area when an emissary was supposed to be a vital part of pack protection, and partly at Deaton, for clearly taking advantage of the Hale pack’s ignorance of what his role was actually meant to be. “Yes, it is!” Stiles snapped, more viciously than he’d intended, shocking all three wolves in the room.
“Peter, are you seriously messing with me right now? Please tell me this is a joke,” Stiles demanded, actually hoping Peter was just winding him up at this point. But to Stiles’s surprise, Peter looked both uncomfortable and a little ticked that Stiles was calling him and his pack out for being, well, clueless—for having an emissary all these years without even knowing what he was supposed to be doing.
“Deaton’s role has always been… minimal,” Peter admitted, clearly reluctant to acknowledge it.
“Minimal? It’s supposed to be vital!” Stiles shook his head, his anger shifting to exasperation and even amusement. “Wow. And here I thought I couldn’t think any less of Deaton. He’s basically on the pack’s payroll, but he doesn’t even do the work?” His tone accusatory. Not only was he genuinely concerned about the pack’s safety, but it was also very fun to get under Peter’s skin with stuff like this.
Peter rolled his eyes, the lines around his mouth tightening as Stiles’s words clearly began to grate on him. “Deaton’s role is, and always has been, minimal. He’s there to give advice to the pack. Nothing more,” Peter said, his voice dripping with irritation. “So don’t start lecturing me on what you think you know.”
Stiles blinked, then snorted before he burst into laughter. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he managed between chuckles. “Are you telling me you’ve kept a druid around just to give the occasional pep talk? That’s it?” He laughed so hard he had to bend over, nearly gasping for breath. “That’s priceless.”
Peter’s face darkened, a low, warning growl escaping him, while Derek crossed his arms, visibly bristling. Cora just looked downright annoyed at Stiles, her lips pursed as if to say, Here we go again.
“You done?” Derek asked coldly.
“Oh, not even close,” Stiles shot back with a mischievous grin as he finally caught his breath, unbothered by their reactions. “You three might be tough wolves, but right now? You’re acting like clueless pups.” He gave them a pointed look as he strolled over to his backpack, rummaging through a handful of flash drives while the wolves watched, bemused and wary.
Finally, he found what he was looking for and tossed it to Peter, who caught it mid-air, his gaze icy. Peter raised an eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation.
Stiles rolled his eyes as if explaining to someone particularly dense. “That little flash drive has everything on it about emissaries and what their actual role is in a pack,” he said, his tone laced with condescension. “I’d suggest you take a look, considering Deaton’s been freeloading off you guys for years… Seriously, Peter, it’s lucky you’re usually not this clueless all the time and have a pretty face. Otherwise, I would’ve gotten rid of you months ago. Honestly. I’m never—never—going to let you live this down.”
Derek’s mouth opened slightly in shock, a rare expression on his usually stoic face. He glanced at his uncle, clearly bracing for an outburst.
But Peter just clenched his jaw, giving a dry scoff before breaking into a sharp smirk, his eyes lighting up with a hint of amusement. His tone was warm but laced with playful sarcasm. “Quit being such a brat, sweetheart.”
“Oh, please,” Stiles snorted, closing the distance in a few quick strides until he was standing right in front of Peter. He reached down, cupping Peter’s chin, bringing their faces close. “You like that I’m a brat,” he whispered, his tone daring. “And even if you didn’t? I don’t care. So either deal with it, or go find someone else to warm your bed.”
Peter’s eyes flashed a brilliant, icy blue, a low, possessive growl vibrating in his throat, but Stiles only grinned wider, clearly unfazed.
After a beat, he leaned in, pressed a quick, teasing kiss to Peter’s lips, then pulled away and headed toward the bedroom, tossing a final comment over his shoulder. “I’m going to take a nap. Enjoy your witch hunt. And maybe, you know, educate yourself on what an emissary is actually supposed to be doing, darling.”
With that, he disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Derek speechless—annoyed, and maybe just a little impressed by Stiles’s audacity.
Uncle Peter must really like him…