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The first time Stiles saw a ghost, he hadn’t really been aware of it. The second time had been the same.
In the aftermath of the nogitsune, the first few times he saw them he had feared the first. That the demon wasn’t gone, that it all had been a dream. He had counted his fingers, paranoidly.
It hadn’t been that though it was hard to say if it was a side effect of the possession or of the substitute sacrifice. It didn’t matter.
He didn’t know how to feel when he couldn’t find his mothers ghost. He had wanted to see her so badly, but then it was better she wasn’t tied to this earth anymore. That she found peace.
It had made him moody, made him want to ignore all ghosts.
That’s when Laura Hale appeared before him. He had barely recognized her, only having seen her cut in half and dead before.
The thing with ghosts was that they were souls of the dead tied to this realm, unable to let go for one reason or another. It meant that beyond the single thread holding them here, there wasn’t anything they could do.
Laura Hale wasn’t here for her brother. Stiles felt sorry about that.
But it also led him here: Standing in Peter’s apartment in the dead of the night, surrounded by darkness. Said man rested in his bed, eyes closed, even breaths. Stiles doubted that he was asleep, it wouldn’t be like the other to stay asleep when an intruder broke in. But Peter kept up the facade, looking peaceful and so different. Only light from the moon spilled in from the window, bathing him in it.
Stiles had stopped thinking of him as the monster long ago. It’s only the distrust that stayed, but Stiles had grown distrustful to a fault so it didn’t mean much. Especially since Stiles doesn’t trust himself either.
Peter must have been fed up with the wait though, probably not expecting Stiles of all people to stay silent and still for so long. Even the natural blue of his eyes half opened, startled Stiles when it caught his gaze.
It’s then that Laura’s presence settled over Stiles and he struggled with the urge to fight it. But he had given her permission, had promised her. He managed not to throw her out, but it still churned his stomach.
His voice sounds weird when Laura speaks with it, unfamiliar. His spine straightened out, his feet firmly planted on the ground. Not a single tremor running through his muscles, all twitches stilled. „I forgive you.“ She told Peter with all earnesty, Stiles could feel it.
At first Peter’s eyes widened and Stiles hadn’t ever seen the man this confused. His stare intense as he sat up, his bedsheets sliding off his upper body and oh hello. If Stiled wasn’t currently trying to tamper the panic of being possessed yet again, though this time willingly, he would shamelessly stare.
„You don’t need to play the theatric villain anymore, it will only bring you more pain.“, Laura went on, though none of her words were pleading. It sounded more like a mother berating their child than a younger niece bidding her uncle. It reminds him that Laura had been an alpha ever since the fire. Six years had given her enough time to let the power settle into her. Or maybe death had given her another perspective.
Peter’s eyes lit up bright blue, the cold electric glow would have made Stiles shudder but Laura was steadfast. His gaze was even more piercing and looking at him, Stiles felt seen. Flayed open, even hidden inside his own mind. „Laura?“, Peter took a guess or perhaps he knew, Stiles was never sure what the werewolves were able to perceive or not. It could have been Peter’s personal stint with being dead as well, so who knew?
A smile pulled at Stiles lips and even if the feeling of his body moving without his input is freightening, he is grateful that he is aware of it all. „Hello, uncle Petey.“
Peter had the blanked tight in his clawed grasp, he looked younger, unmoored by the nickname before anger twisted his face up. „Why are you here? What have you done with Stiles?“
And perhaps Laura’s time was up, now that she had said what she wanted to, but she only repeated „I forgive you“ and then Stiles felt her presence fade from him. Suddenly bereft of her steadiness, Stiles stumbled forward.
He doesn’t crash into Peter completely, only because the man catches him by the shoulders. Their faces were apart only a few inches now and Stiles just couldn’t look away, not with the gentle way Peter looked at him.
Stiles throat felt dry, when he croaked out: “I forgive you, too.”
He had never intended to tell the werewolf this. And maybe it’s not the complete truth, but it feels close to it. He will never stop being angry about Peter attacking Scott and Lydia and all the innocent bystanders that got hurt by this mess, but it hasn’t been the same rage it had been before. A lot is easier to see now, to understand. The despair you feel so close to the being of death and madness. How twisted everything just becomes, when everything is ripped from you. The loss of self.
Stiles hadn’t spoken about it, of course. Lest Peter takes it and braided it into a rope he could hang someone with that Stiles loves. Stiles had understood, but he didn’t trust. Then Laura had appeared.
They had talked, not much, but enough so that she had convinced Stiles to give her message to Peter. In the short breath of time, she had been anchored to him, he had gotten brief glimpses of her memories. Nothing deep, just the lingering traces of emotion, blurry dream like impressions of a burned past.
It had made Stiles understand some more. “She was right, you know. Keep going like this and it’s never gonna be more than ruins. Isolating doesn’t help, if you keep caring.”
“Stiles,” Peter tried to say something, struggling for words. Not that he fumbled around like a normal human being. “I don’t care.”
“I don’t need to be a werewolf to know that’s a lie. When you were the alpha, you kept Derek around. You tried to rescue him. Hell, even after you crawled back up, you stayed around. Not caring would mean getting out of here, not prowling the edges like a dog that got kicked out by its owner.”, and maybe Stiles should have taken a bit more care with his word choices, but that’s an insight always coming after he already opened his mouth. Dog allegories never go well with the born werewolves.
Peter’s grip on his shoulder tightened, the softness from the werewolves expression sharpening. So close, Stiles can see it for what it is, the edges of a sneer on Peter’s face masking the fear. “And you are the gracious owner letting me back?”
Stiles winced at the question, „No, I’m just the fool with the bad allegories. Scott is a lot more forgiving than he should be. The idiot took my hero speeches too much at heart. Kira wasn’t there and Isaak wasn’t involved at that point. Lydia will forever hate you, but she will make peace with her enemies if she can see the benefit in it. But it’s not about them, it’s about your family. Derek hasn’t hunted you down, which is as good as an invitation. He won’t get over Laura, but I think he wants his uncle back. And Derek’s your best choice if you want to reconnect with Cora. And you need pack, the lonely bad wolf routine will drive you just as mad again.“
It’s a relief when Peter loosens the hold on his shoulder. His eyes shifting back, but no less consuming. Stiles wouldn’t dare move anyway, despite the awkward position, too caught up in the intensity of Peter’s gaze. „So what about you. You say, you forgive me. But would you be able to trust me?“
„Better the devil you know and all that.“, Stiles attempts at a more humorous retort. It’s better than to say that he didn’t even trust himself anymore. That he didn’t trust Scott’s judgement or his father‘s ability to keep safe. Trust isn’t something easy to come by, it had been a scarce resource for him that was only growing more scarce with each misfortune passing by. Not trusting Peter means nothing when you see a monster in every shadow. He adds on: „It’s a two way street, you know.“
A smirk spreads across Peter’s lips, all teeth. It’s attractive in a dangerous way, Stiles thinks, as his hearts skipping and cheeks splotching red. A lot more attractive when you aren‘t scared of imminent death.
„Pack means trust and I did offer you the bite, didn’t I ?“ Peter says, with a playfulness in his voice. Stiles shivered, when the man‘s hand began trailing to his neck. Peter‘s fingertips felt like hot branding iron once they brushed against Stiles naked skin right where the collar of his shirt stopped.
Of course Stiles remembers, had thought about it too often. The what ifs. But it’s only now that he really realized; Scott had been bitten under madness, Lydia had been bitten as a ‚get out of Death for free‘ card. Neither had been asked.
It’s hard thinking though over the pounding of his own heart, when all his attention is diverted to the fingers wandering up his neck. Stiles swallowed down empty air. The ‚I don’t want‘ back then had been half a lie. His rationality at odds with his feelings, but desire had always been mankind’s greatest downfall. Now he doesn’t want to hold himself upright anymore. Wants something he still shouldn’t.
Maintaining the eye contact, Stiled leans his head to the side. It’s still only the moon spilling in from the window. Dressed in shadows, Stiles wets his lips. His pulse must be frantic with nervosity beneath Peter’s thumb. „What if I want you to kiss me now?“