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When Peter gets home from his morning run, Stiles is playing blanket burrito on the couch, watching the TV with a sour face. He knew it wouldn’t be easy for his boy, and he has half a mind to let him sulk, let him wallow in everything that’s happened.
Then he thinks better of it.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, sitting down next to Stiles. Ideally, he would try to make skin contact at this point, because his lover is a tactile creature and there’s nothing better to lift his mood than touch, but alas. Stiles is cocooned completely.
“Are you sure he’s not…”
Peter huffs out a breath, because they’ve been over this, however much Stiles hates it.
“Yes Stiles, I’m sure that Donald J. Trump is not a supernatural creature.”
Stiles frowns at the television and wiggles a bit until he flops over and falls against Peter’s shoulder.
“This is insane. I just… there has to be a rational explanation for this,” the boy says, making Peter raise an eyebrow and put a comforting arm around him.
“And by rational, you mean supernatural?”
Stiles rolls his eyes.
“You’re a werewolf, okay? This is the point where you should just shut up and humor your boyfriend.”
Peter sighs, picking up the remote and switching to Cartoon Network. Stiles makes a grumpy noise, but settles more snugly against him.
“Love, listen to me. For the last few years, we’ve been protecting this town from all kinds of creatures. You and me and the pack. Nothing is changing okay? So, today, we will watch cartoons, and Marvel movies. We will eat ice cream before lunch and we will have pancakes for dinner. Then tomorrow, we will get up and go out there and do what we do best; helping and protecting our town. We might just have a bit more work to do now.”
Stiles stays quiet for a while. Peter knows he’s probably thinking about Scott. And Boyd. And Lydia, Allison, the girls… And how Mrs. Henderson always looks cross when Peter and him buy groceries together.
“I could volunteer at the soup kitchen,” he says finally, voice quiet but filled with that familiar note of determination that Peter loves and their enemies fear.
“That you could.”
“And… you could keep your ears open for anyone doing something nasty.”
Peter nods, kissing the top of Stiles’s head. He’s not a social justice warrior by any means. Or at least, he hadn’t been. Everyone for themselves - that had been his motto. Before Stiles. But he knows what it’s like to be hunted and hurt for something out of his control.
He knows that Stiles feels like the war had been lost yesterday, but Peter’s always been good at the long game, and their war? Their war for a brighter future is just starting.