The Only Living Boy

by Julibean

Peter was kind of surprised that Stiles was awake, considering how tired he had been earlier, but maybe Peter's confession had kept him up. It had exhausted him, bringing all that up again. At least he thought that was everything, which was a small comfort. Stiles knew all his secrets now. It was equal parts liberating and terrifying. Peter had shown his hand and now Stiles had all

Boy, that takes me back. Peter hadn't heard a noise quite like that since before the fire. He'd like to say that those had been simpler times, but that wasn't exactly true. Sure, they weren't under constant threat of death in those days, but the Hale house was in a perpetual state of chaos. A screaming baby was a pretty steady component of the family soundtrack, along with the yelling and teasing of the younger kids, and some of the older ones, if truth be told.

One could often pick out the low rumbling of Laura suppressing a growl while staring down one of her younger siblings who had gotten into her bedroom again. Lord knows what she thought she was hiding in there in a house full of werewolves, but that didn't stop her from being morally offended when someone explicitly invaded her privacy. It was usually only to make her closet a hiding space for a game of sardines, but the Alpha-elect would still scare the younger wolves off with a roar that hadn't quite matched the ferocity of her mother's yet. Along with the "normal" family sounds, there was also an undercurrent of something decidedly other flowing through the household. Whether it be the warning rumble of someone about to pounce into a tickle pile or the high pitched fledgling howl of a wolf who hadn't even had his first full shift.

With several pack families living in the manor, there were always children underfoot. Talia's five, their sister Joanna's three, and Joanna's brother-in-law Carlos' four children spanned from a few months to seventeen years old. An aging grandparent and a smattering of other Hales who hadn't yet settled down made for a very full house indeed. Sometimes Peter found that he missed the noise. He and Derek were all too quiet these days. Peter pulled himself out of his mind as they sped closer to the painful sound that got louder every second.

Several bodies lay in the wake of the passing omega that had found its way into their territory. After the way they had seen Gerard butcher the last omega to visit Beacon Hills, Scott and Derek felt it was their duty to track the newcomer and deal with them personally, lest any roaming hunters try to get involved. They had followed the trail of blood the omega had led into the woods, only to find that they were too late. Two bodies were already at the omega's feet and a wailing sound made it obvious that there was an infant who was seconds away from being ripped to shreds. Derek ran forward, claws extended, and leapt for the omega's back, but Peter had gotten there first. Showing no compunction whatsoever, he slit the omega's throat as Scott looked on in horror.

"You didn't have to kill him, Peter," Derek started, filling in the words that were trying to make their way out of Scott's already open mouth. They still hadn't reconciled after the threat of Gerard had left town, but Derek had to agree with Scott's ever steady moral compass on this one.

"We could have just captured him! Why is it always throat slitting with you?" Scott finally found his voice and chimed in.

Peter looked down at his claws with a frown and began wiping them on the bottom of his black V-neck. "He was insane. There is no coming back from that. It was kinder to let him die." Derek made a small snorting noise, but didn't contradict him. I would know. Derek knew too, when he ended my life. He didn't need to say any of that aloud though, because Derek was already looking at his feet bashfully. He motioned at Scott, snapped and pointed with raised eyebrows directed at the younger wolf.

"Scott, take the baby. I need to call the Sheriff." Derek stepped away from the screeching infant that they had all been ignoring until that point and pulled his phone from his jeans. After the Kanima attack on the Sheriff's station, Stiles had finally agreed to let his father in on their supernatural secret. Too many deaths could have been avoided if the chief of the Beacon Hills police force had been aware of the dangers his staff were doomed to face. He had taken it well, considering Scott had just wolfed out in front of him with practically no warning. A few wine-infused chats with Melissa McCall had eased the way and the Sheriff was now in the know. The strain on Stiles' relationship with his father had eased up a bit, and the pack was finding it easier to maneuver without the threat of exposure and arrest breathing down their necks.

"Why me?" Scott complained, but nevertheless shuffled forward and scooped the baby up. He pretended it was a puppy at the vet's office and did his best to be gentle, assuming that it couldn't be that different. It seemed that Scott's magic touch did not extend to babies though, because the infant just continued to scream as Scott did his best to rock and quiet it, looking at Peter imploringly.

"Don't look at me. I'm not a family man," Peter argued, his tone a little sharper than his usual sarcasm. Scott wondered if it was just the high pitched scream that was making Peter irritable or if there was more to it than that. The baby continued to wriggle in Scott's arms, little fists waving around, almost like he was cursing Scott's inability to please him.

"We'll take it for now. I don't think Protective Services is really equipped to handle a baby werewolf. No, it won't shift, but its eyes will be glowing. We'll be at the loft. Thanks, bye." Derek flipped his ancient cell shut on his thigh and looked back to Peter. "Text the others. Make sure the girls come over. And ask them to stop for diapers... and formula? I don't know, whatever else you think we need."

Derek stalked off to find his car, Peter following quickly and Scott stumbling along behind, pulling his hoodie partially around the child as it started to rain.

Allison slid open the loft's door and was immediately hit with an earsplitting noise. Scott was standing by the window, helplessly bobbing up and down while Derek sat at the bottom of the spiral staircase with his head in his hands, possibly covering his ears. Peter looked down from the balcony, arms spread out across the guardrail, frowning slightly. Isaac was hiding in the other room. It sounded like he had turned on all the taps in the bathroom to drown out the sound of the baby screaming. It really was a pitiful attempt at babysitting made by four werewolves. She passed off the grocery bags to Lydia and Stiles and rushed forward to help Scott. While not technically dating anymore, the pair were certainly standing closer than friends normally would be. The idea of Scott giving Allison the space she needed lasted about eight weeks into the summer vacation before the two were talking again. That was three weeks longer than Stiles had expected.

Allison skidded on her heels as the baby turned his scream up to 11. Derek didn't think that the kid could have gotten any louder, but apparently he was wrong. He made a low groaning noise in the back of his throat and Allison slowly backed away from the child, hoping he would quiet back down, but to no avail. She continued to slide backwards on the smooth soles of her flat brown boots until she was a safe distance away. Like anyone could really be a safe distance from that noise.

Scott raised his head and gave Lydia an imploring look, but she just shook her head, bouncing her curls, and flounced onto the couch, crossing her long legs, letting her ankle twist her high-heeled foot around a few times. "Oh no way," she chided. "Just because I have a set of ovaries, does not mean that I am babysitting material. Not until I've got my Fields Medal, or at least tenure at Caltech." She pursed her lips and shot a glance over her shoulder at Stiles, who was fumbling with several bags and a cardboard box full of diapers as he struggled to slide the door closed. "Ask Stiles," she ordered, letting her smirk widen a bit and raising her eyebrows, "he's got Mommy written all over him."

"I don't think so," Scott argued. "He'll spaz out and drop him on the floor or something!" Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes, dropping his burden on the floor near the door, straightening the front of his green plaid shirt that had spun around his waist while he fumbled with the groceries.

"Oh please, Scott. Have a little faith here." He rolled up his sleeves and dramatically cracked his knuckles and neck, strolling over and reaching for the infant. Scott gave him a wary look, but handed him over anyway. Stiles slipped his hands under the child's arms and around his back, letting the blanket drop to the floor and lifting the baby up above his head. "Hello little man," Stiles cooed. "Have the big bad Alpha and his little wolves scared you?" The lilt in Stiles' voices was like a balm to Derek's soul because as soon as he started speaking to the baby, the crying stopped. Derek lifted his head and squinted suspiciously at Stiles.

"How did you do that? Scott has been trying for over an hour," Derek demanded, standing up and striding over to peer at the child while still keeping his distance.

"Must just have the special touch. No one can resist The Stilinski Charm," he crowed, capitalization apparent from his tone. Allison and Scott snorted while Lydia gave a small smile. "I think someone needs to be changed. Pass me that box, will you Derek?" Stiles asked as he laid the baby down on the couch, keeping a soft hand on the back of his head on the way. He unsnapped the bottom of the onesie and had the offending diaper off and rolled up by the time Derek had brought the baby supplies over. Wiping the child efficiently and disposing of the wipes and dirty diaper in one of the plastic bags, he knotted it up and tossed it back at Derek. "Take care of that, would you?" Stiles chuckled to himself as he righted the baby's clothes and picked him back up, cradling him upright against his chest. "That's better, isn't it little one?"

Allison just gaped at the boy while the rest looked on in fascination. The water upstairs stopped running and a metallic noise suggested that Isaac had finally emerged. Derek stomped his way over to the kitchen to throw the bag out and Peter stood unmoving at his perch on the balcony, far removed from the situation, but still looking as interested as the rest of them if the look on his face was any indication. Stiles didn't know whether he should be amused or offended by the surprise his pack mates were showing.

"He's a wolf?" Stiles questioned, eyes never leaving the child's face. He made a soft clucking noise with his tongue and rubbed his nose along the child's red cheek. "He doesn't look that scary to me," he said, tone still light and soothing.

"Your dad is looking for his family," Derek told him, "we'll hold on to him until they have it figured out. We can't just let them take him to a foster home or something." Stiles nodded at him, strolling around the room with the baby, making a gentle swishing motion with his body. This wasn't the first time he had held an abandoned child. It was something that happened occasionally at the station with the safe haven laws they had in California.

Peter remained silent, still watching the group with a sort of vague interest, expression never changing. Stiles eyes met his as he walked a continued circuit around the room. There was something behind the blue eyes that Stiles couldn't quite name. It didn't look like frustration, or confusion, but more like scrutiny, and Stiles had had more than enough people judge him in his seventeen years than anyone else he knew. Middle school was not a friendly place. He wasn't eager to let Peter keep staring at him with his stupidly attractive body peering over the balcony, so he turned out of sight.

"Well it looks like you have this under control," Lydia determined, hopping up from the couch and smoothing her skirt down. "Coming, Allison?" she questioned as she shouldered her bag and strode over to the door. Scott and Allison both rose to their feet and made to follow her. Isaac took the opportunity to slip down the stairs and next to Lydia.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Stiles argued when it became obvious that he was being left behind.

"I need to be home for curfew soon and your dad already knows you're here," Scott argued right back. "And he seems to like you, you'll be fine. I'll come by with breakfast in the morning."

"Morning?" Stiles gaped at his best friend and looked to Derek for help. "I'm not staying here all night!" Derek looked a little panicked at his words and decided to put his Alpha foot down.

"Stiles, you're the only one that's been able to stop him from keeping the whole neighborhood awake. You can stay on the couch until the Sheriff figures out where he's going." When Stiles looked like he was gearing up to argue some more, Derek pulled out the big guns. "Please?" he asked. Stiles looked into the Alpha's face and couldn't find any way to argue with the stunning effort put forth by Derek's arched eyebrows.

Stiles gently flopped down on the couch with the baby draped across his chest. "Fine!" he relented valiantly, "but you are stopping by my house for a change of clothes and my meds tomorrow," he pointed at Scott. "And you," he swapped his hands to bring the outstretched one up to the baby's back and the other one to point at Derek instead, "are ordering pizza. With extra cheese. And we're watching Buffy! All night!"

Derek walked over to Peter's laptop to place the food order while the others slipped out. Stiles smirked slightly, surprised when Peter finally deemed it time to abandon his perch and come downstairs, stopping at the TV to pull the season two DVDs out of the box set that Stiles had left there a few weeks ago. He took his seat in the armchair while Stiles spread himself out on the couch, adjusting the baby as he went.

"What?" Peter questioned, as he looked at the expression Stiles still had on his face. "I like Spike."

Stiles laughed out loud at that revelation. "Of course you do."

"Food will be here in 20 minutes," Derek said, picking up Stiles' ankles and plopping his feet down on the floor so he could take a seat. Stiles just turned to the TV with a sigh and settled in.

Pizza boxes were strewn across the coffee table along with a half dozen empty soda cans. Stiles' breathing had evened out in slumber about 3 episodes in. Halloween was one of his favorites. Xander's military speak had always got him going, but by the time they had gotten to the relative boredom of The Dark Age, Stiles was dozing softly. Derek had already gone to bed, but Peter, always the night owl, was still as a statue in the same armchair he had been in for hours. Peter wasn't lying, he did like the series, but Spike had been missing from the last episode and he had found his gaze wandering over to the pair of boys on the couch. He had always thought of Stiles as a boy, just around seventeen if memory served him properly. Maybe it was time to reassess.

What had Peter been doing at that age? Manipulating his family members into getting the best of everything, pulling pranks on his numerous nieces and nephews, looking at colleges. Surely he hadn't looked that young. But Stiles had proven himself over and over again in the last few months since the older man's resurrection: piecing together clues, taking charge in pack meetings, and saving even Derek's ass on multiple occasions, always with a level of snark and attitude that Peter could appreciate. Few people could really match him when it came to intelligence, something which he always used to his advantage, but Stiles came closer than anyone else ever had. He looked older somehow: maybe it was the contrast of the baby asleep on his chest, maybe it was the dark circles under his eyes or the scattered scars up his exposed forearms that spoke of a child thrust into situations that were beyond his control. Either way, Peter had come to admire this pack human, not that he would ever let anyone in on that little secret.

Thunder clapped loudly, breaking him out of his silent ponderings. He stood abruptly and shut off the TV as the baby woke and began to scream again. "That's my cue," he said with a sigh, heading straight for the staircase before Stiles could even bother asking for his help with the crying infant that had jerked him from his nap. Peter wasn't interested in helping the human any more than was necessary. He made his way up the stairs and into a small office room that he had claimed as his den. Stripping out of his pants, he settled into his nest of blankets on the floor and punched his pillow with a low huff as the baby wailed on. It was going to be hard getting to sleep with that racket going on downstairs, especially with enhanced werewolf hearing. Peter wondered if it was worth looking around for a pair of earplugs when he heard a soft sound from downstairs.

Stiles was singing. He could barely hear him over the continued cries of the child, but the baby eventually quieted and Peter could make out the light words drifting up from below.

"I hear the drizzle of the rain

Like a memory it falls

Soft and warm continuing

Tapping on my roof and walls

And from the shelter of my mind

Through the window of my eyes

I gaze beyond the rain drenched streets

To England where my heart lies"

This wasn't the type of music that Peter sometimes heard Stiles listening to in his room or Melissa's car. He was fairly sure the Jeep didn't even have a stereo. Not that you'd be able to hear it over the engine and wind whistling through the hard top anyway. Usually it was something loud, with a dance beat, that the hyperactive teen could bounce along to while they drove away from their latest near scrape with death. But this… Peter could almost hear the finger picked strings that should accompany these lyrics. It sounded achingly familiar, but Peter couldn't remember the last time he'd heard it.

"My mind's distracted and diffused

My thoughts are many miles away

They lie with you when you're asleep

And kiss you when you start your day

And the song I was writing was left undone

I don't know why I spend my time

Writing songs I can't believe

With words that tear and strain to rhyme"

Peter heard Stiles walk into the kitchen and make up a bottle for the baby, still singing the whole time and gently bouncing the child in his arms as he waited for the microwave. The couch creaked slightly as Stiles seated himself to feed the baby.

"And so you see I have come to doubt

All that I once held as true

I stand alone without beliefs

The only truth I know is you

And as I watch the drops of rain

Weave their weary paths and die

I know that I am like the rain

There but for the grace of you go I"

Peter heard the song come to a close and had one last thought before he let sleep take him. It wasn't just the song that was familiar. The voice was familiar too.

It was after dinner at the Hale house and the children had quieted down a bit, but a few of his nieces and nephews were still chasing each other around the living room. Talia caught Bitsy as she came careening around the corner of the couch and hugged the child to her chest before sitting down with her youngest perched in her lap.

"Shh, hold on a minute Bits, your Uncle Peter and Aunt Savannah are going to play for us. I want to hear." Talia narrowed her eyes at the rest of the children and they scrambled onto the rug in front of the couch and sat down, cowed by her Alpha tone. Peter looked up from his seat in the big armchair where he was tuning his twelve-string and gave the kids a smile that was tempered with an eye roll directed at his sister. His wife took a seat perched on the arm of the chair and nodded at him. Peter extended the claws of his right hand and began plucking out an introduction. He looked up at Savannah when it was her cue, but she had already opened her mouth to sing.

"Perhaps love is like a resting place

A shelter from the storm

It exists to give you comfort

It is there to keep you warm

In those times of trouble when you are most alone

The memory of love will bring you home

Perhaps love is like a window

Perhaps an open door

It invites you to come closer

It wants to show you more

And even if you lose yourself and don't know what to do

The memory of love will see you through"

With a light nudge by way of a prompt, Peter twisted his lips slightly at Savannah, but joined her for the bridge anyway. It wasn't perfect, but the harmony wasn't bad.

"Oh love to some is love is like a cloud

To some as strong as steel

For some a way of living

For some a way to feel

And some say love is holding on and some say letting go"

Peter took the melody, looking up at Savannah, who had a beautiful, full smile on her face. He wasn't a great singer, much preferring to play for Savannah so she could sing herself, but he humored her. They were trying to tell the family something, after all.

"And some say love is everything

And some say they don't know"

He elbowed her slightly so she could take over, content to continue lightly plucking the strings of his guitar and listen to his wife's sultry alto end the tune.

"Perhaps love is like the ocean

Full of conflict full of change

Like a fire when it's cold outside

Or thunder when it rains

If I should live forever and all my dreams come true

My memories of love will be of you"

Without missing a beat, Peter started up a different song. Savannah recognized it immediately, even though he had only played one chord, and gave her husband an exasperated look. "That's a little heavy handed, don't you think, Peter?" she chided as he shifted in his seat to look at her directly. He just smiled knowingly and sang the first verse anyway.

"People smile and tell me I'm the lucky one

And we've just begun

Think I'm gonna have a son

He will be like she and me as free as a dove

Conceived in love

Sun is gonna shine above

And even though we ain't got money

I'm so in love with you honey

Everything will bring a chain of love

In the morning when I rise

Bring a tear of joy to my eyes

And tell me everything is gonna be alright"

Savannah smiled widely, interrupting him by laughing as she turned toward the rest of the group, but looking directly at Talia and Eric. "For the record, I think it's going to be a girl," she said, lowering one hand to her abdomen. Peter abandoned his guitar and shrunk his claws back, standing up behind his wife and smiling over at his mother while he wrapped his arms around Savannah's waist. He hooked his chin around her shoulder and watched her chest rise and fall beneath her gauzy green tank top as she took a deep breath.

"How long?" Talia asked immediately, knowing it couldn't be very long at all because she hadn't heard a heartbeat, let alone smelled anything on her recently.

"Just five weeks," Peter replied. Talia leapt up to hug her brother and sister-in-law, letting out an excited screech.

"What is going on?" their brother asked from the back of the room. Apparently the musical reveal was too subtle for everyone to pick up on.

"They're having a baby! Oh my God, I knew you would give in eventually!" Talia poked at her brother's stomach until he let go of his wife to wrap his sister and Alpha up in a hug. "I'm so happy for you both!" She pulled back a little in his arms to bring a soft palm up to the side of his face, brushing his too-long hair out of the way. Talia was eventually pushed aside so the rest of the family could congratulate the happy couple. When it seemed like Peter was eager to escape the onslaught of hugs, Talia called over a few of the adults' heads and asked, "How about another song?"

Peter smiled, relieved, and took his seat again, quickly extending his claws with a flick of the wrist. He had to be a bit careful with the strumming songs, as even the sides of his claws were sharp enough to cut a string. Savannah came up next to him again, this time grabbing Bitsy's hands and swinging her around the room. She had a deceptively wide vocal range, and broke out the high soprano as she began the next song, a family favorite.

"They paved paradise and put up a parking lot

With a big pink hotel, a boutique, and a swinging hot spot

Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you got till it's gone

They paved paradise and put up a parking lot"

There was a loud echo through the house as all of the kids joined in to sing,

"Shooooo bop bop bop bop

Shooooo bop bop bop bop"

Savannah picked Bitsy up and wrapped the girl's legs around her waist as she took the next verse.

"They took all the trees and put 'em in a tree museum

And charged the people a dollar and a half just to see 'em

Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you got till it's gone

They paved paradise and put up a parking lot

Shooooo bop bop bop bop

Shooooo bop bop bop bop

Hey farmer farmer put away the DDT now

Give me spots on my apples but leave me the birds and the bees

Please!"

Peter woke with a full body shudder, his breath coming in quick, short gasps, sweat pouring off the sides of his face and into his sideburns.

By the time Peter had collected himself, taken a shower, and changed, Derek and Stiles were already sitting at the breakfast bar with coffee. The baby was happily back in Stiles' arms, sucking on a bottle.

"I thought I heard something about breakfast," Peter started, pulling himself a cup from the cabinet above the sink.

"Scott should be here in a few minutes," Stiles replied, stifling a yawn with one hand while rubbing the baby's back with the other. "He promised me greasy diner sandwiches, and my Adderall. Otherwise this is going to be a rough day," he said, gesturing slightly at the child in his lap.

Stiles stood up, plucked the bottle from the baby's mouth momentarily, and held out both the bottle and the child for Peter to take. "I'm gonna take a shower, try not to kill him in the next ten minutes." Stiles made sure that Peter had actually taken the baby's weight before he walked away and rushed up the stairs.

"Don't look at me," Derek said, as the baby immediately began to whimper. "He screams every time he looks in my general direction." Peter was still holding the baby at arm's length like he was ready to drop it somewhere, eyes searching around the room like he was looking for a suitable place to leave a ticking time bomb.

"Can't you just use your Alpha voice on him?" Peter pleaded, wrinkling his nose as he caught a whiff of something unpleasant happening in the child's diaper.

"I already tried that this morning. He just flashed his eyes at me and kept screaming," Derek answered, picking up his mug and going to refill it at the counter.

"Just change him!" Stiles screamed over the sound of the shower running, sounding exactly as exasperated as you would expect with the two grown men who had been rendered impotent by the little baby in their midst. Peter looked up at Derek imploringly, but he was met with a set of pursed lips and Derek shaking his head as he moved to sit in the armchair. Peter pulled the kid into a football hold with one hand and used the other to rummage around in the bags for what he needed. He pulled out a new outfit as well, because this one was starting to offend his delicate senses with the smell it was emanating.

Peter put on a brave face as he pulled off the baby's onesie and started setting up an assembly line for the changing. Derek laughed at him and said, "It looks like you're going off to war over there. It's not like you've never changed a baby before." Peter's face turned grim and he shook his head at Derek, daring him to make any further comment about their lost family members. Peter pulled off the diaper and set about quickly wiping up the mess when he was hit in the face with something warm and wet.

Peter sputtered and Derek burst out laughing as he watched the baby pee all over his taciturn uncle, who continued to change the baby with almost medical precision and redress him in a jumper with little wolf ears attached. One of the girls must have been responsible for that one, although he wouldn't put it past Stiles either. Stiles, hearing some sort of disturbance, ran out onto the balcony with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"What happened? I told you not to kill him!" Stiles called down to the main room. Derek just kept on laughing, gasping for breath at this point, until he could form a response.

"The baby pissed all over Peter's face!" Stiles' grin covered his entire face. He didn't even laugh, just gave Peter a huge smile and backed away from the railing. Peter thrust the baby into Derek's lap and bounded up the staircase to shower and change again.

The Sheriff called around 4 p.m. to explain that they had found the baby's relatives, but they were on the east coast and wouldn't make it until the following afternoon. It looked like they had at least one more day of babysitting ahead of them. The pack came over for a movie night, which ended pretty early, as Lydia insisted she and Jackson had a date and Scott and Isaac disappeared with Allison shortly afterward. Derek said he was going to run the perimeter of their territory just in case there was more than one omega on the loose. Peter and Stiles settled in with their Buffy DVDs and some Chinese takeout.

"I always liked Kendra," Stiles said, popping a crab rangoon into his mouth and chewing happily as he kept the baby upright on his knee. "She's got a very no-nonsense philosophy, kind of reminds me of Allison actually."

"I'm partial to Giles," Peter offered, "he plays the guitar."

"Yeah he can be kind of badass, but Xander is still my favorite," Stiles allowed.

"Of course he is," Peter shot back.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Stiles said with disgust. Turning to the baby and speaking in a soft voice, he told him, "There's nothing wrong with Xander, he's awesome! Yes he is!"

Peter huffed and set aside his carton and chopsticks. "Completely average human character with absolutely no supernatural ability? He isn't even good looking! Don't give me that face," he said, as Stiles opened his mouth to argue, "I'm an equal opportunity employer."

Stiles didn't really need to know that. That definitely wasn't going to come to mind later when he was trying to fall asleep, absolutely not. Of course the werewolf just had to give him another reason to picture him naked. Oblivious to Stiles' sexual anguish, Peter just kept on talking. "I'm sure you think you identify with him... constantly overlooked, average in every way, mediocre; but you are so much more than him. You are exceedingly clever, fiercely loyal, and more importantly, you have a spark. I don't think you realize how valuable that is."

Stiles was still staring at Peter with his mouth slightly open, absentmindedly bouncing his knee slightly to keep the baby appeased. Peter pressed his fingertips together and sat back in his armchair, crossing one foot on top of his other knee and evaluating his human companion. For someone so intelligent the man really could be frustratingly idiotic sometimes.

"Sparks are rare in our world. It's not just a genetic ability you are born with; many people have that and never find a way to use it. It's about faith. The power of your will is what makes the magic happen. Sparks often become emissaries to packs. They don't just offer magical insight and protection, they pair with an Alpha. They keep an Alpha tethered to their humanity and their magic. It's kind of like a balancing act. This pack could use someone like you to bring it together."

Stiles stared at the table, thinking over what he had just heard. "But Derek never said anything about-" Peter interrupted him.

"Well he wouldn't, would he? He's so closed off from everyone and everything he would never let someone get that close to him. He doesn't realize it yet, but you two will become partners. You'll have to, or the pack will fall apart and Derek will lose everything. Again. You're the bridge between Derek and Scott, and they're going to need you to bring them together." Peter left it at that, grabbing his shrimp lo mein off the table and sitting back further in his chair again.

Well, that was true: Derek was morose on a good day and practically suicidal on his bad ones. The only relationship of Derek's he was aware of had ended in utter disaster, and it was no surprise that he had put walls up. Stiles wasn't sure how he was supposed to get through to him. It wasn't like Scott was particularly willing to compromise either. Maybe he had to appeal to Scott's heart instead of his head. Kind as he was, Scott wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box. Logic never really seemed to work when it came to his best friend. Stiles pondered this for a while, staring blankly back at the TV.

They got through a few more episodes, landing on Surprise, which was another one of Stiles' favorites. Stiles looked over at Peter, who was staring silently at the screen as Angel told Buffy he loved her for the first time. Stiles wondered if Peter had ever loved someone like that, before he lost his soul and found himself consumed by revenge, just like Angel had.

There was a lot of anger behind the sarcasm Peter used to keep people at arm's length. Not that anyone had really tried to get any closer. Even Derek had been justifiably wary of his uncle since his return from death. Stiles shook his head a little and glanced over at the older wolf. Peter was absentmindedly rubbing the side of his face with his fingertips, and Stiles was reminded of the scars he had seen there the first time he met Peter in the hospital. He found it disturbing that he had been able to forget how damaged Peter was, because he was sure Peter and Derek hadn't forgotten anything. Peter had been in that hospital for six years, his two remaining family members moving across the country and never coming back. He wondered if anyone had even visited him there.

"Grab me another soda?" he asked Peter as the credits started to roll.

"Get it yourself," Peter responded without turning his head away from the TV.

"Please? I don't want to move and wake him up." Stiles gestured at the baby, who was once again asleep on his chest.

"What do I get if I do?" Peter questioned, not having agreed yet.

"What do you want?" Stiles asked, thinking that this could end up being a very dangerous conversation. He squirmed just a bit, trying to pretend that he hadn't been looking at the wolf a little differently after he played the bisexual card earlier in the evening. Even if he asked Stiles for a kiss, or something more, that didn't mean he had to give it to him, no matter how badly he wanted another Mountain Dew.

"Sing for me," Peter stated simply. Stiles didn't think that was a very tough request, considering Peter could have asked for anything just then. He had honestly expected a request for sexual favors, given the general creepy uncle vibe that Peter gave off at all times. Trust Peter to refrain from being crude and sly when he least expected it. He mentally flipped through his songbook. He really wasn't much of a singer, preferring to pretend that he could play the drums whenever he listened to the radio. He only ever really sang with his mother, so his song choices were a little older than his current age suggested. Coming to a decision rather quickly, he suppressed a smirk and began to sing softly, so as not to disturb the baby.

"Just yesterday morning they let me know you were gone

Suzanne the plans they made put an end to you

I walked out this morning and I wrote down this song

I just can't remember who to send it to

I've seen fire and I've seen rain

I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end

I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend

But I always thought that I'd see you again"

Peter chuckled quietly at the song choice. He had said the boy was clever. Planning to hold up his end of the bargain, he stood up and walked into the kitchen as Stiles continued to sing.

"Won't you look down upon me Jesus, you've got to help me make a stand

You've just got to see me through another day

My body's aching and my time is at hand

I won't make it any other way

I've seen fire and I've seen rain

I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end

I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend

But I always thought that I'd see you again

Been walking my mind to an easy time, my back turned toward the sun

Lord knows when the cold wind blows it'll turn your head around

Well there's hours of time on the telephone line to talk about things to come

Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground

I've seen fire and I've seen rain

I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end

I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend

But I always thought that I'd see you again"

Stiles opened his eyes to see Peter standing over him with a soda in his hand. He had even put a straw in it so he wouldn't have to move his head and jostle the baby. Why did Derek even have straws in the kitchen? Peter handed the can over and backed away from the pair on the couch.

"Thank you, Stiles. Goodnight," Peter murmured and made his way upstairs. Now Stiles was even more confused.

This time Peter knew he was dreaming. He couldn't really explain why he knew it, but it was obvious to him from the way things were slightly muffled. There was no way his hearing would have been this bad if he was really awake. He was sitting stiffly in an uncomfortable chair with his face pointed towards a window. It was early fall outside, leaves of all colors were still hanging on the trees and the wind was blowing the branches around with real force. His hearing cleared a little bit as he relaxed and he started to hear a variety of noises surrounded by the overlaying sound of busy. There was a clacking of shoes in the hallway along with the squeaking of people rushing around on sneakers. Several phones were ringing and he could hear a near constant beeping coming from down the hall a little further.

Hospital, his mind finally supplied. This was his room in the long-term care ward in the hospital. That's why he wasn't moving. He was in a coma. This did not come as a huge shock to Peter, but it was disconcerting nonetheless, being unable to move again. He had never dreamed about this time before, having blocked most of it out in the interest of self-preservation. Peter urged his mind not to panic. There was nothing he could do about this but feel safe in the knowledge that he would wake up again at some point. This wasn't real anymore.

That was of little comfort when he thought about it a bit further. It wasn't real now, but it had been then. Burned beyond all recognition, feeling not only the physical pain of his injuries, but the emotional anguish of his lost loved ones. So many people. There had been so many of them in that house. Peter silently cursed himself again for having such a large family. He wondered absently if the pain would have been any less if there were even five fewer people trapped in the manor. Why were they always together like that? Because you loved each other. Peter cringed internally, wondering if he could cry in his immobilized dream state. Spiraling lower and lower into a pit of regret, Peter's attention was pulled by a set of quick footsteps in the distance. They entered one of the rooms down the hall and left the door open. If Peter focused, he could hear what was being said.

"Hi Mom," a young voice said, moving forward and sitting down on the bed, if the rustling of fabric was any indication.

"Hi baby," a small female voice answered, "how was school?"

"Fine. I shared my lunch with Scott. I think his dad was supposed to pack it for him, but he forgot," the boy answered. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine sweetheart, just fine," the woman replied. Peter could tell by her breathing and her sluggish heart beat that she wasn't fine at all. He also figured that the boy already knew that, they were in the long-term care ward after all. There were mostly terminal or PVS patients in this wing of the hospital. Oh how Peter hated the nurse that they had assigned to him. She smelled like tobacco and was always just a little too rough when she moved his body. He couldn't tell how long through his six year stint this was, but any amount of time was too long, really.

"What did you learn?" the child's mother asked. They chatted back and forth for a few minutes. The woman quizzed her son on his multiplication tables until her breathing got a little raspy and she fell quiet.

"Mom?" the boy shifted in the bed, voice tinged with a hint of worry.

"Sing for me, Przemysław," she asked.

Peter could hear the boy sit up a little straighter and take a deep breath.

"To everything, turn turn turn

There is a season, turn turn turn

And a time to every purpose under heaven

A time to be born, a time to die

A time to plant, a time to reap

A time to kill, a time to heal

A time to laugh, a time to weep

To everything, turn turn turn

There is a season, turn turn turn

And a time to every purpose under heaven

A time to build up, a time to break down

A time to dance, a time to mourn

A time to cast away stones

A time to gather stones together"

"Maybe something a little less morbid, sweetheart?" she said with a dry laugh. Peter could hear her move over in her bed and pull the boy to lie down next to her. He kicked his shoes off the end of the bed and snuggled in a little closer as he began to sing again.

"For you they'll be no more crying

For you the sun will be shining

And I feel that when I'm with you

It's alright, I know it's right

To you I'll give the world

To you, I'll never be cold

'Cus I feel that when I'm with you

It's alright, I know it's right

And the songbirds are singing

Like they know the score

And I love you, I love you, I love you

Like never before"

Peter knew this song too. When he had met Savannah it felt like he had known every folk song on the planet, playing for her constantly. Strumming song after song, praying that she was falling for him the same way that he was for her-he did so hate to be vulnerable. But that wasn't what was familiar about it. Peter felt that he had heard this voice before, but wasn't able to place it. The woman cleared her throat a little and joined in very softly.

"And I wish you all the love in the world

But most of all, I wish it from myself"

They sang the last bit of the song together and Peter determined finally that one could cry while in a coma, even in a dream-coma. Tears streamed down his jagged face, unable to be wiped away. They gathered in his clavicle and dampened his hospital gown. Peter wept for his wife and their unborn child. He wept for his parents, his siblings, his nieces and nephews. He wept for Derek, who lived with this pain as well. He wept for Laura, for her and for his part in ending her life too soon. Most of all, he wept for this boy who would soon know the same kind of pain.

"And the songbirds keep singing

Like they know the score

And I love you, I love you, I love you

Like never before

Like never before

Like never before"

Peter woke slowly this time, his limbs heavy with the burden of being so still and his face wet with tears he must have shed in his sleep. He surprised even himself when he spoke one word aloud as he sat up. A word he knew he had never spoken before. Przemysław.

The Sheriff brought the boy's aunt and uncle over to the loft so they could be sure that the couple was werewolf friendly before letting them leave with the child. There was a knock at the door and Derek stepped aside to let the trio in. A petite woman with very long blonde hair and a man with exceedingly broad shoulders trailed after the Sheriff. He led them over to the couch where Stiles was seated with the baby curled in towards his body. The woman sat down gently and turned towards Stiles.

"Hi, I'm Paula, and this is my husband Marty." Peter flinched slightly at the name, but no one seemed to notice, their eyes fixed on the newcomers. "And you're holding my nephew, Jamie," she continued.

"It's been confirmed. She has pictures of him on her phone from her sister and they're listed as his legal guardians," the Sheriff said, nodding a few times and standing with his hands on his hips.

"You're the Alpha," Derek said, not asking the question. He flashed his red eyes at Paula and she did the same by way of an answer. Derek didn't bother replying, just stood back on his heels a bit and crossed his arms over his chest.

She turned her body towards Stiles again, letting her eyes slide black to blue. "Our father just passed away. I've only been an Alpha for about four months." Paula extended her hands towards the child. "May I?" she asked him, and Stiles, seeing no reason not to, handed the boy over. Jamie went to her without complaint, which itself was evidence of their relationship. She must have smelled a bit like his mother.

"I'm sorry about your sister," Stiles offered.

"We were too late to save them," Derek said delicately, shifting slightly on his feet.

"But the one responsible is dead," Peter said finally. Effectively ending their group apology. Paula nodded solemnly, not questioning the pack's methods.

"They were here visiting friends, going to a wedding. It was the first time they had taken Jamie out of our pack's territory." The room fell quiet, as no one really had anything else to say. Stiles stood up next to his father and the Sheriff put a heavy hand down onto his shoulder.

"Well if you're ready, I can take you back to the station so we can go over the paperwork with your lawyer." The Sheriff swept his arm out toward the door as Paula got to her feet with the baby in tow. Stiles stepped forward and rubbed a soft hand on Jamie's back.

"It was very nice to meet you, Jamie. You've been a great kid. Maybe we'll meet again someday," he said with a smile, voice tinged with a little sadness too.

"Thank you all so much for caring for him," Paula looked up to Stiles, "and protecting him." She looked over to Peter and Derek, who nodded at her. "We owe you a great debt. If there is anything our pack can ever help you with, please call me," she said as she pulled a scrap of paper out of her pocket and handed it to Derek.

Marty stepped forward and gratefully shook each of their hands, clapping them each on the back as he passed. "Really, thank you." The Sheriff led them to the door and with one last passing smile over Paula's shoulder, they were gone.

The Sheriff gave the remaining men an appreciative look and told them, "Pack dinner at our place tomorrow night. Make sure you're all there. You," he said as he pointed at Peter directly, "bring some whiskey," and then he was out the door too.

Stiles shuffled around the room, gathering his clothes and other belongings that had been scattered around the loft, and started shoving everything into his backpack. Peter watched him, a small frown on his face, and Derek retook his seat on the couch, grabbing a novel that he had left on the coffee table and finding his page.

"I'll see you both tomorrow then. I'm cooking, so come by around 6:30," Stiles said, waved them a little mock salute, kicked out one heel, and left. Peter was still staring at the door a few minutes later, and Derek only noticed him turn away when the rumbling of Stiles' Jeep was out of earshot.

This has gone on long enough, Derek thought, dreading the conversation that he had to have with his older Beta. "He's seventeen, Peter," Derek began, not really sure what he was going to say after that brilliant opening. Derek was relieved when Peter saved him.

"I'm aware of his age, Derek," he said sharply, but he was betrayed by his body language, sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees, hands hanging between them, head lowered. He looked so lost that Derek didn't have the heart to reprimand him, knowing it would crush him completely. They had so little joy in their lives, he really couldn't bring himself to take any of it from Peter.

"He makes you happy," Derek said simply, as if that was the only point he needed to make.

"He does," Peter answered, still looking at his clasped hands.

"You're better when he's around. The house feels full, like it used to." Peter nodded silently. "You'll have to be very careful." The younger wolf wanted to help Peter get his happy ending, but knew at least a bit of a warning was necessary. "And you have to make sure to tell the Sheriff if it looks like it's going to go anywhere. He won't be happy, but maybe if he sees Stiles happy with you he'll let it go. You might have to wait until he's eighteen. You should be prepared for that." Derek took a deep breath, searching for any more advice he could give his uncle. It's not like he had much experience with relationships, but the little that he did have ate at him, giving him the courage to say, "Don't hide it."

Peter looked up at that. He could only be talking about Kate, the secret relationship with an older woman that had cost them their family.

"If you want this to be serious, be honest with him. He deserves to know everything, and so does the Sheriff." Derek was kind of surprised at himself. His wolf preened a little, excited that he had anything valuable to say in this situation. He and Peter were very close at one point, but their shared history had weighed the relationship down to such an extent that Derek couldn't remember the last time they had had a serious conversation without sarcasm. It might have been before the fire.

"I don't know where to start," Peter admitted, closing his eyes and rubbing his palms up and down against his face.

"Talk to him at dinner tomorrow night. Give him a hint. I'm not sure that he has any idea you like him," Derek suggested. Somehow he felt good about this. It still felt like he was holding his pack together with both hands. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't even stable yet, but he felt like there was finally some potential here, like maybe they could be a family again.

"I don't just like him, nephew. It's more than that. It's-" he paused for a moment, looking for the right word. "It's everything." he whispered. He's everything. Everything I never knew I needed.

"Tell him, Peter." Derek stood up and turned toward the kitchen. He grabbed two beers from the fridge, opened them, and handed one to his uncle. "He might surprise you."

"He already has. He always does." Peter took a long drag from his bottle and put an arm around his Alpha. It was a poor facsimile of the familial affection that they had lost, but it served its purpose, and they could both see the path forward. Peter had some romancing to do.

Stiles was sweating. He had three pots steaming on the stovetop and the oven temperature rising for the garlic bread he hadn't started on yet. He turned the radio up a little bit to drown out the bubbling sounds of the onions caramelizing for his vodka sauce and the dialogue of the NCIS rerun his dad was watching in the other room. Stiles pulled his plaid shirt off, flinging the damp article through the doorway and into the living room, as he stretched his hands high up above his head and rolled his neck, his white undershirt riding up his stomach a little, exposing his happy trail.

"Well that wasn't the greeting I was expecting."

Stiles whipped his body around and found Peter standing in the doorway, Stiles' sweaty shirt flung across half of his face, trailing down his left shoulder.

"Oh God, sorry!" Stiles gasped and lunged toward the wolf, snatching his shirt off him and ducking through the doorway. He waved at Derek, who was already sitting in the old lumpy armchair in the corner of the room, and tossed his shirt up the staircase.

He reentered the kitchen to find Peter tying an apron behind his back. His mother made that apron, and the other two that were hanging on the back of the basement door. Peter had bypassed the young Stiles-sized children's apron and the one with the pleated skirt that his mother used to wear, and had put on his father's. It was a plain brown apron with a large sheriff star embroidered over the wearer's heart. Stiles didn't know what to think. His father hadn't put that apron on in eight years. He was surprised there wasn't a layer of dust over it.

Stiles was pulled out of his reminiscence by the sound of Peter sharpening a large chef's knife with a well-practiced hand. He didn't even ask what Stiles needed him to do, just walked over to the spot on the counter that was holding a cutting board and plucked a head of garlic from a bowl in the corner on his way. Stiles was still standing there gaping as he watched Peter expertly smash, peel, and mince up the head of elephant garlic. Shaking his head a little, Stiles strode back over to the stove and gave his onions a stir, pouring half a bottle of vodka into the pot with a hiss.

He had turned on the old radio on the kitchen windowsill and found a folk station out of one of the local colleges. There is Love by Peter, Paul, and Mary started playing as he went to the fridge and pulled two sticks of butter off the door, put them in a bowl, and set it to soften in the microwave. This song was a little too religious for his tastes, and he wasn't sold on the gender relations of the couple either, but his mother had liked it, and he relaxed a little, thinking about her. After Peter had asked him to sing for him, he had been thinking of his mother more and more, wondering what she would think of her son if she saw him now. Would she be proud of him for taking care of his father, and trying to keep his friends alive as well, or smack him on the back of the head for getting involved in a dozen or so supernaturally dangerous situations in the past two months alone?

The microwave beeped and Peter pulled the butter out and started assembling the garlic bread without hesitation. He moved around the kitchen like he had cooked there all his life, pulling a wedge of parmesan cheese from the refrigerator, finding a grater, and mixing everything in with the butter, adding a generous cracking of black pepper. Stiles watched him out of the corner of his eye, busying himself with adding the cans of tomato products to his growing pot of vodka sauce. He pulled a batch of grilled chicken out of the oven and flipped each piece over with a pair of tongs. The song changed, and he hummed along happily, watching in fascination as Peter sliced two loaves of Italian bread lengthwise and topped each half with their garlic and butter mixture.

Stiles was adding jarred spices to his sauce when he heard a low rumble of a hum join his in harmony. The younger man could hear his mother's voices singing the lyrics in his head. Half of the time we go, but we don't know where, and we don't know where. Stiles was surprised when they both opened their mouths to sing the bridge together. Peter's deep ah joined Stiles' higher one, and he stared at the bubbling of the pots on the stove, making sure the pasta water was almost ready, afraid that if he looked at Peter this fragile thing he didn't even know the name of would be broken.

Peter grabbed the pan with the bread on it and hip bumped Stiles out of the way, opening the oven and setting the tray on the top rack. He took a deep sniff and grabbed a towel off the counter to remove the chicken from the oven. Peter continued to sing as Stiles looked on silently, utterly flabbergasted at this point. Stiles tried not to get distracted by the way the cords on Peter's neck moved while he sang. He watched Peter's Adam's apple move for a few seconds more before turning away again.

"Hey, let your honesty shine, shine, shine now

Do doo-n do doo-n do doo-n do

Like it shines on me

The only living boy in New York

The only living boy in New York"

He looked up at Stiles as the guitar ended the song, fingers flexing lightly as the strumming went on. Who was this person wearing his father's apron, singing his mother's music, and helping with dinner? Stiles looked at Peter like he didn't recognize him, mouth opening and closing silently, interspersed with frowns.

"Shall I toss the salad?" Peter asked, raising his eyebrows slightly. And that was enough to break Stiles into a rough laugh. The wolf slid into the corner and grabbed the measuring cup full of what looked like homemade Caesar dressing, dumping it all in the large salad bowl on top of the lettuce and croutons and grabbing another pair of tongs from the utensil holder. Stiles took this opportunity to dump several pounds of pasta into the two pots of boiling water, setting a timer on the microwave. He was absolutely not looking at Peter as he swiped his thumb through the empty measuring cup and brought it to his mouth. Peter glanced over at Stiles with a look of honest curiosity. "Anchovy paste?"

Stiles coughed a little and prayed that Peter couldn't smell the way his dick twitched in his pants. "Yeah, and lots of garlic."

"It's good," Peter said as the sound of the front door opening reached them and Scott led the rest of the pack in to toss their jackets on the coat rack by the door. Stiles wasn't surprised to see Peter cracking even more black pepper on top of the salad and giving it a quick dusting of cheese.

"That smells amazing," Isaac said as he pulled open a cabinet and started setting the table. Stiles drained the pasta, added cream to the sauce, and mixed it all together in two gigantic bowls. He noticed that Peter had taken the time to chiffonade some fresh basil. He scooped it off the cutting board with the edge of the knife, nudging it onto the pasta. Derek emerged from the living room, grabbed the water pitcher from the refrigerator, and filled everyone's glasses. They all took their seats as Peter and Stiles placed the serving dishes on the table. It was cramped with all nine of them in the small eat-in kitchen, but they made it work, chairs very close together. If Peter took the opportunity to touch his knees to Stiles' under the table, no one had to know.

"This is great, Stiles," Derek said, the rest of the pack murmuring in agreement with mouths full of penne and bits of crusty bread. He had a small frown on his face, but that's not unusual given that they still hadn't had any luck finding Erica or Boyd. The weight of the Alpha pack's threat was straining him more so than the others. All of the Betas besides Peter had been keeping up a shield of blissful ignorance about the whole situation. Stiles was all too aware of the fact that there should be two more chairs squished around the small table.

Jackson looked like he'd died and gone to heaven. Lydia actually went back for seconds and Stiles smiled at himself for a job well done. The pack put away a truly staggering amount of food in just under thirty minutes, chatting loudly about lacrosse and the upcoming school year. It was fairly comfortable considering they had been at such odds only a few weeks ago, but Scott had finally manned up and explained what Allison's mother was trying to do before Derek intervened, and she actually had the grace to thank Derek for protecting him. Lydia still steered clear of Peter, but used sass and barbed comments as her own brand of defense. He may have hurt her, but she made it clear that she was still in control and wasn't afraid of him anymore. Stiles was impressed at how far they had come. Maybe Peter was right about him being good for the pack.

They cleared off the table onto the counter and Stiles pulled a tray of brownies off the top of the refrigerator. He dropped it on the table directly in front of Allison, knowing full well about her chocolate obsession, and pulled two gallons of milk out of the fridge, fisting them in one hand. The tray and a pile of napkins were passed around and the table fell absolutely silent. Peter was last to get his brownie, being seated at the head of the table next to Stiles. He took a sizeable bite and let out a truly pornographic moan. Eight heads snapped in his direction and the Sheriff cleared his throat pointedly.

"Peter," the Sheriff began, "join me for a drink?"

The wolf nodded, taking his brownie and wrapping his napkin around it, and followed the Sheriff out of the room. The pack burst out laughing, Derek giving them a put upon groan, and telling them all to get out, thrusting a Tupperware of leftovers at Scott to bring to his mother. Figuring the dinner was officially over after getting an order from Derek for training tomorrow, the younger wolves and two girls gathered their coats and left Stiles and Derek to the dishes.

The Sheriff pulled two lowball glasses from atop the bar cabinet and grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniel's that Peter had walked in with earlier. He poured a generous three fingers into each and slid one over to Peter, sitting down next to him on the couch. The Sheriff took a large sip and rubbed his brow with his thumb and pointer finger. "So, Peter," he said, looking over to the kitchen and making sure the water was running and dishes were clanging before continuing, "how old are you?"

Peter took a sip, enjoying the taste of the drink even if it didn't do anything for him. "37," the wolf answered, "although I missed six years in there." The Sheriff just nodded, as if that was what he expected. Peter was sure the man must have seen his hospital records at some point. "And I was dead for two months in there too," Peter admitted. The Sheriff exhaled slowly.

"Do you work?" he asked next.

Well, these questions could be worse. Peter felt like he was being interrogated, which he supposed was exactly what was happening, but he didn't quite understand the context yet.

"I don't actually have to work," Peter began, "and it's a little difficult to get back into the workforce, being dead and all." At least I'm not technically bringing up the unemployment rate. "I either need to pretend I healed somehow and resume my identity, or come up with a new one altogether. I just haven't gotten around to that yet." The Sheriff tilted his head at that, taking another gulp of whiskey. "I used to be an architect. Mostly residential, but I also did some restaurants and other local businesses. I wouldn't mind getting back into it at some point."

"And how long have you been in love with my son?" Peter had of course just taken a sip to wet his throat, and coughed a little, his eyes watering at the burn that faded as quickly as it began. He thought back to his earlier conversation with Derek and reminded himself to be honest.

"I'm not sure." Peter took another fortifying sip and rolled the half empty glass between his palms, not meeting the Sheriff's eyes. "Maybe from the start. There was always something, I just didn't know what it was at the time." Peter didn't think the Sheriff was going to go for his gun, but he could be wrong, so he took his time answering the Sheriff's next question.

"And now? What do you want?"

"I don't know," Peter again tried to go with the truth. "Whatever he's willing to give. I know he's young, but I'll give him whatever he wants. Even if that's nothing or everything." He exhaled and decided that if he was going to be truthful he might as well be thorough. "I was married." He hoped the Sheriff wouldn't hold it against him.

"I know," he replied, staring at Peter with a concerned look, eyebrows crinkling.

"Savannah was pregnant. About six months," Peter said as he finished his drink. "I don't know if I could do that again." He didn't specify what that was, but figured he didn't really need to. The Sheriff had lost his wife too. "But for Stiles..." Peter trailed off.

The Sheriff let out a heavy breath and downed the rest of the liquid in his glass, reaching for the bottle and filling the glasses with two fingers this time. "I'm sorry," he offered quietly, shifting backward in his seat. "I know that doesn't help, nothing helps really."

"Time," Peter said, "family."

"I don't know what he thinks about any of this, but I know one thing." The wolf listened intently. "He hasn't turned that radio on in eight years." The Sheriff quirked his lips to the side a little, raising his eyes to meet Peter's. "How did you get him to sing again?"

"I asked." The Sheriff laughed at that, taking his second glass of whiskey in one gulp.

"Now why didn't I think of that?" Peter had to laugh right back at him, reveling in the familiarity the older man was allowing him. The Sheriff stood up and walked to the bottom of the stairs. "Just, try to wait until he's eighteen?" Peter sputtered a bit at this, about to start arguing, but the Sheriff held up one hand and shook his head. "If my son feels about you the way I think he does, he won't make it easy for you. So I won't arrest you if you can't hold him off, but just, give it a try for me anyway?"

"Yes, sir," Peter answered.

"John," the Sheriff said, and went off to bed. Peter drained his glass and picked up the rest of his brownie, savoring every bite. There was something special in the brownie, an ingredient that he just couldn't figure out. It was especially frustrating because he felt like his werewolf senses should be able to help solve the mystery, but he was still clueless. He sighed to himself as he finished the treat and picked up the glasses to bring back into the kitchen. I could not possibly have gotten off that easily. Maybe the Sheriff is an even better man than I thought.

The pack was out in the preserve near the old Hale house early the next afternoon. Derek already had two of the Betas on the ground panting while Jackson circled him in a move that reminded the group that he had a large tail not too long ago. Allison had sparring pads on her hands as she instructed Lydia on how to land a roundhouse kick. The redhead had already pulled her tank top off, revealing her neon pink sports bra, sweat rolling down her stomach into her belly button. Stiles had a book of sigils open in his lap as he sat sprawled out in the grass nearby. It was really a testament to his newfound respect for Lydia and Jackson's relationship that he wasn't even glancing at her body as she twisted around Allison. He had come to realize that there were some things that you really couldn't compete with, and Kanima-suppressing true love was definitely one of them. He comforted himself by thinking that he was too nice for Lydia anyway. She would walk all over him and he would let her. It would never have worked out.

Peter emerged from behind the wreck of a house sipping on the straw of a large Starbucks cup. He leaned down and held a small Frappuccino out for Stiles to take. "Java chip?" Peter asked, joining him on the grass. Stiles was surprised by this act of generosity, but tried not to let it show. He accepted the drink and took a sip, wiggling a little in happiness.

"Thank you, it is so hot out here," Stiles responded, flipping another page, trying to make sense of these protection sigils. He thought he might be able to ward their homes against the Alpha pack if he could just figure them out. He really didn't feel like getting kidnapped again, considering the last time it was only by a geriatric psychopath and he still got three broken ribs and a split lip. He could only imagine what a group of Alpha werewolves could do to him.

At first he hadn't let his dad see the marks on his arms from where Gerard had decided his fists weren't good enough and pulled out a knife. Unfortunately, as his father kept reminding him, they didn't make him Sheriff just for his good looks. He was actually a decent detective, and had found Stiles out pretty quickly. Luckily Gerard was already dead, so his father wouldn't have to go to jail for his murder.

"Well you could be wearing a little less clothing," Peter said, gesturing to the two shirts and long cargo pants that the younger man was wearing. He didn't even have sandals on. Not that Peter would ever be caught dead in flip flops, but younger people seemed to wear them all the time. Continuously running for his life had taught Peter that he should always wear real shoes that would stay on his feet. That didn't stop him from keeping his feet pedicured, though. He wasn't an animal.

Stiles pretended that he hadn't made an eep noise at Peter's comment and continued sipping on his drink. It hadn't passed his notice that Peter had only bought him a small one, trying to subtly control his caffeine intake, damn handsome observant bastard. They watched the pack spar for a few silent minutes, until Peter reached over to take the book out of Stiles' lap. He read the cover and flicked through the table of contents. It was written in some sort of old English, lots of excess es all over the place, odd sentence structure, and some words were being used as verbs that just weren't verbs. Stiles was all for inventive vocabulary, but he really couldn't make heads or tails of it.

"You should talk to Deaton. He could train you. There are a lot of things that you could do if you knew where to start," Peter told him, trying to be as encouraging as possible. "He has a lot of tricks up his sleeve, and something tells me that you will end up being more powerful than he ever was, especially if you start early."

Stiles looked like he was going to question that assertion, but Peter continued over him, "It's something to do with your optimism, I think. He's too much of a pragmatist. You could be more." Stiles pondered that for a minute, gaze fixed on the way Scott was trying to take down Derek. Scott still didn't want Derek as his Alpha, but Stiles thought maybe he was starting to recognize that they had a serious threat headed towards Beacon Hills. There was still a lot about being a werewolf that Derek could teach him. Stiles winced as he saw Derek swipe at Scott's obvious move with a clawed hand, continuing the movement to also knock Isaac down, and swept his leg around to knock Jackson off his feet in one smooth motion. Jackson banged an angry fist on the ground, but didn't get up immediately. Isaac was looking sadly at the claw marks Derek had made in his tee shirt. The Alpha looked over to where his uncle was seated with Stiles and made a beckoning gesture at the older wolf.

"Come on, Uncle Peter," he managed to chide while still looking supremely serious, "show them how it's done."

Peter smirked at his nephew and strode over to where the wolves had been training, kicking his pristine leather shoes off in Stiles' direction on the way. Barefoot, he stepped into the metaphorical ring, rolling his toes in the dry dirt and taking a fighting stance. He nodded in Derek's direction and stood still even when Derek ran toward him at full speed. Peter knew that Derek was much faster than him, so he used his extra years of experience to his advantage, simply stepping out of the way at the last second. Stiles sat, riveted, book laying forgotten a few feet away. It was like watching a scene from the third Twilight movie, which he totally didn't own on DVD, nope, not at all.

Derek skidded past Peter and turned around. Peter didn't even bother turning around to face him; he seemed to sense Derek's moves before he made them. This time when Derek rushed him, Peter grabbed him by the waist and used his own momentum to spin him around and throw him like he was a sack of potatoes. Derek's body collided with a tree trunk nearly eight feet off the ground with a sickening crack. Peter stalked over to his prone form and pulled him up by the throat, pushing him against the tree trunk and sinking his claws in a little. His other hand was pushing into his stomach below his navel, claws curled in such a way that Derek knew he could easily be disemboweled.

No one had really seen Peter fight since he was a monstrous Alpha, and the difference in style was obvious. He used to use brute force and lots of needless posturing, letting the wolf control him. It was clear now that Peter was a skilled tactician, assessing his adversary's skills and using his senses to anticipate their movements. He was always three steps ahead, and was able to take the Alpha down with little effort. It was a little like watching a chess match, and Stiles could almost see the gears turning in Peter's head as he moved, quickly rendering Derek inert. Stiles couldn't tell if this was because Derek needed more experience, or if Peter was really just that good. Scott turned his head a bit, looking away from the two older wolves, remembering how Peter had slit the throat of that omega just a few days ago. Seeing this motion, Peter dropped Derek to the ground and turned towards the Beta.

"I know you fancy yourself above murder, Scott," Peter said as he strode forward, stopping a few paces in front of the teen who was still on the ground where Derek had dropped him, leaning back on his elbows, "but that kind of nobility will get you and your friends killed. You pull your punches, don't go for the serious blows that could kill, and for what? Do you think you can save them? That you can convert every rogue werewolf into a member of the Scott McCall Church of Fairness?" Peter raised his voice and gestured at Derek. "A pack of Alphas are coming, Scott, not just one Alpha, but five or six of them. They heal faster than you do, they will knock you down harder and slice through you quicker. You have to go for blood, go for the kill every single time, or you might as well just lie down in front of them." Peter realized that he may be taking this lecture a bit too far, but the corner of his mind that was focused on keeping Stiles alive let him push forward. "You have to put your morals aside and fight for your life. Otherwise you will bleed and you will die. And if you're not careful, you'll take the humans with you."

Stiles couldn't help but think that Peter had nailed it. This was the angle that Stiles had to go for if he wanted to get his best friend and Derek on the same side. He had to make Scott understand that the more wolves in their pack, the stronger they were and the better protected he and Allison would be.

Scott looked over at Allison and Lydia, at Stiles, still stunned, laid out in the grass, but Stiles thought that it might finally be sinking in. Scott, however, was not the Beta Peter should have been looking at, because Jackson huffed out a rage-filled breath and shifted, tackling Peter to the ground with the full force of his athleticism. The pair of wolves rolled a few times on the grass before they got to their feet. Jackson lunged again and Peter brought his knee up to the wolf's chest, keeping him away, and pushed out hard with his palms. Jackson went flying much like Derek had, but this time it wasn't a tree that he hit. He fell backwards and directly into Stiles, who had only just scrambled to his feet to get out of the way. Unable to stop his momentum, Jackson took Stiles down to the ground, where the human's head hit the edge of a rock with a solid crunching sound. The wolves smelled blood and rushed forward, but even though Jackson was the one on top of him, Peter still seemed to get there first.

"Stiles, don't move," Peter said, cupping the side of his neck and turning his head. Stiles' vision blurred a bit, but he still thought he saw Peter pulling his V-neck off and holding it against his head to stop the bleeding. Yes, that was definitely what he saw, because not a minute later he was pressed up against Peter's naked chest as he was picked up bridal style. What was with all the Twilight parallels today? Scott and Jackson stepped forward to stop him, but Peter backed up a step. "I'm taking him to the hospital," Peter said, and no one argued with him, until Stiles' mouth caught up to his ears.

"No, not the hospital. I'll be fine, just take me home," Stiles pleaded.

"But-" Scott tried to insist, but Stiles held his ground.

"No, Scott, I don't need any more bills from the ER. 'mm alright, just take me home." The human allowed himself to give in to the pain for a minute, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against Peter's body. The wolf was just so warm, maybe he could sleep for a little while until they got to his house.

"Go, Peter. Take care of him." Derek ended the conversation and allowed his uncle to have a little alone time with his human. They had some things to talk about anyway.

Peter walked quickly back towards the Jeep, trying to keep Stiles from jiggling as much as possible. He plucked the keys out of Stiles' pants pocket and unlocked the passenger door with one hand, pushing the seat forward and laying Stiles down in the back, or whatever passed for lying down in the miniscule car, considering his legs were still mostly on the floor. Peter closed the door gently and walked around to the driver's side, turning the engine over and checking the rearview mirror.

"Wait... Roscoe," Stiles muttered under his breath. Had Peter been human he wouldn't have heard anything; the Jeep was incredibly loud.

"Grinds in second," Peter finished for him, "I remember."

Everything was quiet when Peter parked the Jeep in Stiles' driveway and cut the engine. Stiles seemed to have fallen asleep on the drive, and Peter knew that wasn't really a good thing for humans with possible concussions to be doing, so he jostled the boy awake. Peter carried him into the house, dropping Stiles' keys in the bowl by the door. He went to kick his shoes off before realizing that he wasn't wearing any. He must have left them in the preserve. Peter hoped Derek had thought to grab them. Those were Italian.

Stiles started to squirm a bit as Peter ascended the staircase, kicking the boy's bedroom door open and laying him down on the bed. Stiles' arms tightened around his neck when he went to remove himself, and Peter fought to remain immobile as Stiles rubbed his cheek against his throat again. Peter reached behind his neck and pulled Stiles' hands apart, heading for the bathroom. He returned with a warm, wet washcloth and the first aid kit.

Stiles groaned a little when Peter reached for his cheek, turning his head to the side so he could take a look at the damage. Stiles hummed lightly at the touch and turned into Peter's hand. The older man took the opportunity to pull a little bit of Stiles' pain away as he gently wiped the blood off the back of his head, pulling softly through his hair so he could get a better look at the wound. It was a pretty big oblong shape, dark with blood, but thankfully it wasn't too deep. Even still, he was sure it hurt the boy worse than it looked.

Peter removed his hands and Stiles made a noise of protest. Peter tried to tell himself that it was because he stopped taking his pain and not because Stiles wanted to nuzzle him some more. He opened the first aid kit and pulled out a tube of Neosporin, putting some on his finger and swiping it gently across the cut. He didn't think gauze taped across the boy's hair would really help anything, so he wiped his hands on the washcloth and set everything aside. Stiles turned his head and opened his eyes, gazing at Peter from under half-closed eyelids. Peter had seen enough movies to know that he was supposed to ask Stiles questions to check that his speech wasn't slurring, and there was one thing he'd been dying to know.

"Stiles?" Peter asked. He heard Stiles make a hmm? noise and pressed on, "What's in the brownies?"

"Espresso powder," he muttered, more than a little groggy, eyes looking more half-closed than half-open. Peter smiled.

He thought a little more rest wouldn't hurt, so he put his hand on Stiles' forearm and continued pulling his pain, a little at a time, until Stiles sighed with relief. To Peter's surprise, Stiles took his wrist into his much thinner hand and brought Peter's broad palm up to his cheek again, cupping it around his own jaw and closing his eyes once more. Peter took a deep breath, inhaling their combined scents. It felt comfortable, it felt like coming home. And wasn't that a scary thought. Peter hadn't had a home in a very long time. He took a bit more pain until he felt Stiles' body relax against the bed in sleep, grabbed a tee shirt from an open drawer, and left the room to head downstairs.

Peter returned to Stiles' room with a tray of food. He set it down on the floor for a minute, seeing as the desk was a disaster of epic proportions. He grabbed Stiles' shoulder and gently shook him until he started to stir. He sat down in the computer chair and rolled himself over to the bed, putting the tray in his lap as Stiles sat up with an unhappy noise. Peter handed him a cup of hot tea and placed a few pills into his other hand. He silently put a napkin in Stiles' lap and placed a plate on top of it.

"You made me grilled cheese?" Stiles asked after downing the pills, a smile reaching the corner of his mouth.

"Comfort food," Peter replied, taking another plate off the tray for himself and biting into a corner of his own sandwich. Stiles made a contented noise around his bite and Peter was brought back to his embarrassing moment at the dinner table the night before. He took a moment to make a mental list of the ways he might be able to get Stiles to make that noise under different circumstances.

Stiles smiled at him again, taking a moment to think about how easy it was to smile at Peter these days (that was certainly a new development), and took another bite of his sandwich. It really was a good grilled cheese. The bread was perfectly crispy with butter, and Stiles looked forlornly at his empty plate before Peter took the other half of his sandwich and held it out to him. "Thanks," the man said, taking another eager bite and chewing happily. Peter smiled to himself and wiped his hands on a napkin. He set a glass of ice water on Stiles' bedside table and gathered up the remains of their meal to take downstairs.

When he returned, Stiles was already asleep again, deep enough that he didn't wake when his phone beeped with an incoming text message. Peter shook him awake once again, and Stiles did not look happy about it that time. He let out a truly pathetic groan and opened one eye, glaring in Peter's direction.

"You have to stay awake, Stiles, at least for a little bit, so I can make sure you don't get any worse," Peter said, sitting on the edge of the twin bed and holding a soft ice pack to the back of his head with a kitchen towel.

"Fine," Stiles replied, taking the ice pack and sitting up again. "Movie?"

"Alright."

"Good, grab my laptop." Stiles pointed at a pile of books on his desk that had a laptop stacked between pre-calculus and a dictionary of night-blooming plants. He passed it over to Stiles, plugging it in next to his phone charger, and sat back down in the desk chair. Stiles pulled up his videos folder and sifted through his selection, smiling a little as he queued up his chosen film.

"Really, Stiles?" Peter whined as he saw the green landscape and the backside of a deer. "Does it have to be Twilight?"

"I'm the one with the head injury, which was totally your fault by the way, so I pick the movie," Stiles told him, scooching over in his bed and patting the other side of the mattress. "Now come here, you can't see from over there."

Peter groaned again. "I don't need to see it to know it's terrible," he said, but he gave in, settling next to the boy with his back against the headboard.

"And don't think I didn't notice that you could tell what it was from the opening. You've totally seen this before, don't even try to lie."

"I didn't say anything."

"Shhh, trying to watch a movie here!"

They watched in silence for a while, Peter looking over to Stiles occasionally to make sure he hadn't fallen asleep again, Stiles shifting to take the ice pack from his head and flip it over.

"What the hell is a 108-year-old doing in high school anyway? Couldn't he have just gotten a job? He could pass for twenties easily," Peter said abruptly. It sounded like he'd been holding back that little tidbit for a while now.

"What, like you have a job?" Stiles replied. "Is sitting around all day in your secret lair doing nothing to benefit society part of the supernatural creature mystique?"

Peter rolled his eyes at that. "I could have a job, it's just the paperwork is a little complicated when you've been missing, presumed dead for a year."

"I've been meaning to ask you about that," the younger man said, turning towards Peter. "How are you planning to pull that off? Change your name?"

"I'd really rather not," Peter admitted. "I was thinking maybe your dad could help me smooth things over. I think we'd have to pretend I had amnesia and wandered off or something. Maybe got kidnapped?"

"As common as kidnappings are in this town, I think that's probably overkill," Stiles said. "Stick with the amnesia thing. I think that's pretty common with coma patients anyway. You'd have to do something about your scars too. There's no way a human would have healed that fast. But once you figure that part out, you can just start pretending that things are coming back to you and carry on with your life."

"There are some things I'd rather forget," Peter mumbled, but it was still loud enough that Stiles heard him perfectly.

"Like what?" Stiles couldn't help but ask, understanding full well that he might not like the answer he got, if he got one at all.

Peter stared at the screen for a minute, gathering his thoughts. Be honest, he tried reminding himself again. Nothing will ever come of this if you aren't honest. "Well for starters, I wish I could forget about Laura." He figured he might as well get it all out quickly. Stiles tapped the spacebar, pausing the movie, and looked over at the wolf again. "I didn't even realize what had happened until she was already dead. I just... ran off I guess. Maybe part of me was angry that she and Derek had left me here when I didn't have anyone else. I don't remember biting Scott either, it was all just some perverse kind of instinct. I would never have touched Laura if I was in my right mind."

Stiles nodded slightly, inviting Peter to go on. "I did use Lydia. There's no denying that, but I just didn't want to be burned again. I can't imagine it happened twice. Who gets set on two separate occasions?" Stiles winced and turned his head away slightly, knowing he had been a major player in that supernatural showdown.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but you were kind of being a huge dick at the time." Peter huffed out a laugh and placed his hand on Stiles' knee.

"I don't expect an apology. I don't deserve one either. I have no excuse, except to say that I was driven mad by grief." Peter paused for a moment, then decided to go on. "I know you read the police report about the fire; I've seen it too, but it's not entirely accurate."

"It said eight family members deceased. Smoke inhalation. Electrical malfunction."

"Eight family members," Peter sighed, "that's not everything. It was eight family members with the last name Hale. Mom, Talia, Eric, Marty, Savannah, Cora, Tyler, and Bitsy." He rattled off the list like it ran through his mind on repeat frequently. "There were more pages after that. The total was twenty-two." Stiles inhaled in disbelief. "My mother, my siblings, their spouses, Derek's siblings. My wife, Savannah," he took a deep breath and continued, "her siblings, their spouses, and their children. So many of them were just children."

"Oh my God. Twenty-two?" Stiles was almost afraid to let Peter say it again, because he didn't want to hear the confirmation, but Peter kept talking anyway.

"Well, twenty-two and two-thirds, if you count our pup." At that admission Stiles grabbed the hand off of his knee with both of his and twined his slim fingers through Peter's broad ones. A baby. Peter was going to have a baby. And he had just seen Stiles carrying one around like it was no big deal. No wonder Peter hadn't wanted to touch him.

He had a whole life. He had in-laws. It was so hard to imagine a young Peter trying to be polite to his wife's parents, her siblings. They were all in the same house, so they must have been close. Bitsy Hale? How many siblings did Derek have? How old had she been? This was just too much for one person; too much for even two people. Stiles suddenly had a new understanding of the monstrous Alpha Peter had been a year ago.

Maybe it wasn't an understanding, maybe it was an insight. Stiles knew what he would do if someone murdered his father. He recognized the similarities between him and Peter. Peter had spoken of his loyalty, his tenacity. Loyalty was another word for devotion, for fidelity. His mind battled with the words justified and deserved. Was there a difference? How far would he have gone if it had been his father burned to death?

"Oh, Peter, I..." Peter couldn't bear to meet his eyes, but he knew that the boy was crying. His human was crying for him. He's not your human, idiot. His wolf whined inside his throat, but Peter pushed it back down. He just stared at their joined hands and allowed himself to put his head on the man's shoulder.

"I just," he tried to cut Stiles off, afraid of the apology that he was sure was on his lips, "I thought you should know."

They were silent for a long time. At some point Stiles brought his left arm around Peter's shoulders and it was some time later that Peter tapped the spacebar with his toe and let the movie play on.

Peter found that he had dozed off and that the movie was over. They were somehow mostly through New Moon. Stiles was quietly running a hand through his hair. Peter pulled himself up into a seated position again, dislodging Stiles' fingers, and wiped the sleep from his eyes. He grabbed the glass of melted ice water from where he had left it and took a cool sip. Tapping Stiles on the arm, he held out the glass to him. "You should stay hydrated." Peter was kind of surprised that Stiles was awake, considering how tired he had been earlier, but maybe Peter's confession had kept him up. It had exhausted him, bringing all that up again. At least he thought that was everything, which was a small comfort. Stiles knew all his secrets now. It was equal parts liberating and terrifying. Peter had shown his hand and now Stiles had all the power. Thankfully, he felt that he could trust Stiles with it.

The older man tried to find a way out of the silence they had fallen into, but Stiles didn't seem as tense about it as he would have expected. Eager to break the mood at least a little bit, he searched the screen for something to comment on. Jacob was in Bella's kitchen, answering the phone when it rang. Peter opened his mouth, but Stiles beat him to it, muttering "Stupid cryptic werewolves." Peter let out a relieved laugh and looked over at the younger man, whose hand had found its way back into Peter's hair.

"Well, if Edward hadn't jumped to conclusions they could have saved themselves a lot of trouble, and probably a half hour of run time."

"Yeah well, Edward's an idiot. Why didn't he ask any more questions?" Peter didn't answer, and Stiles saw him stifling a truly effeminate giggle. "What?" Peter kept laughing. "No seriously, what?" Stiles asked again.

"It's just," Peter wiped his eyes a little, "your dad's the Sheriff."

"So?" Stiles asked, not getting what was so funny.

"You're totally Bella Swan," he said finally, laughing even more.

"Oh my God, I am so not Bella! Shut up!" Stiles started to rant. "She's insane, she totally lets Edward stalk her for the entire first book just because he smells nice, ignoring the fact that he literally tells her that he wants to eat her, and then she turns suicidal when the stupid guy dumps her."

"You let werewolves stalk you," Peter argued, "and how many times has my nephew been through your window?"

"Hey! That is not the same thing!" Stiles yelled again. "I don't want him coming through my window, and it's not like he's coming in here to creepily kiss me when I'm in my underwear!"

"I hope not," Peter said, laughing again. He shut up when a pillow smacked him in the face.

"Take it back!" Stiles demanded, smacking him with the pillow again, jostling the laptop off the foot of the bed. "Say I'm not Bella!" Peter just kept laughing, letting Stiles smack him a few more times, then he grabbed the other end of the pillow and pulled forward until Stiles was pressed against him with the pillow in between their chests.

"Make me," Peter challenged, looking at Stiles intensely. Stiles looked back at Peter, and he watched as Stiles' gaze fell down to his lips and then back up again. Peter wanted to lean in, but instead he cocked his ear towards the open window. Stiles' concentration was broken when he heard the wolf howl that echoed through the neighborhood. "Duty calls," Peter said, hopping up from the bed and looking around for the shoes that he still didn't have with him.

Thinking he might as well end the night on a positive note, he leaned over and pulled Stiles close with a hand on his neck again. Stiles shivered a little and Peter considered kissing him, but decided against it. He pulled the remaining pain from the boy and kissed him on the temple. "Thanks for the shirt. I'll see you tomorrow," Stiles heard the wolf say, and then he was gone, down the stairs, and pulling the back door closed behind him before Stiles could even process what had just happened.

Peter woke abruptly and flailed around a bit in his blanket nest, trying to pull the sheets off himself. He was sweating again, and this time it was everywhere, the whole nest was damp and he swore he could still smell smoke. Things had gone so well with Stiles yesterday, if you didn't count the minor head trauma, but that still hadn't stopped his subconscious from dredging up a familiar nightmare.

Watching the children had been the worst part, even worse than his parents, and, somehow, worse than watching Savannah finally slump over. Watching the smaller children die first, causing the older ones to scream even louder as they tried to shake their siblings awake again. Even though the humans could have possibly made it through the mountain ash that surrounded the manor, they succumbed to the smoke inhalation faster than they were able to get to the exits. The fire had just burned too quickly, much too quickly.

Pulling himself up and moving toward the bathroom, Peter caught Derek's eye through his open bedroom door. The Alpha was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Peter thought Derek almost looked as though he had been woken from a nightmare as well, but he couldn't be sure. His nephew was so lonely… Peter could tell even if no one else could. They hadn't known the cocky, carefree child he had once been. His missing Betas weighed on his mind every minute, and the coming threat of the Alpha pack had him scrambling to train the rest of his wolves in an effort to keep them alive just a little bit longer. Peter really needed to make sure that Stiles trained with Deaton. This fledgling pack needed an emissary, and maybe Stiles could become powerful enough to protect them for a change. But first things first: he had some shopping to do.

He showered quickly and threw on some clothes, grabbing his keys and yelling that he'd be back in a few hours. Derek didn't respond, and Isaac was probably still asleep. Peter still didn't have a car of his own and didn't really want to anger Derek by just taking the Camaro, so he made the long walk into town, humming a little as he went. He reached his destination and pushed the door of the local music shop open, jingling the bell as he entered. Peter wasn't really one for small-town chit chat, so he was thankful when none of the salesmen tried to bother him. He looked around the whole store, even though he knew what he was there for, and finally stepped into the guitar display room. Dozens of instruments lined the walls, while dozens more hung from the ceiling. Several couches and stools were placed throughout the room. There were only a handful of twelve-strings on display, and Peter wasn't really surprised since they had gone out of style quite a while ago. He narrowed it down to three just on looks alone. He didn't need a blue guitar, thank you very much, and who needs an electric twelve-string? That's absurd.

He pulled the first guitar off the rack and sat down on one of the couches, plucking a few of the strings with his human fingers. It was a little out of tune and he spent a minute turning the knobs until it was at least mildly satisfactory. Peter wouldn't say he was embarrassed to play in public, but it had been a while, and he was a little hesitant to start making a lot of noise and attracting attention. He thought back to the first song he heard Stiles sing a week ago and plucked out the opening. It was a little rough, but he was surprised he still had it somewhat memorized, fumbling a few of the chords and then finding his rhythm. Peter couldn't really explain why he didn't like this particular guitar, but he just wasn't feeling it, so he put it back on the rack and picked up his second choice. He didn't even bother playing a note on this one; it just felt all wrong in his hands. It wasn't heavy enough, cheaply made. Like the fictional Goldilocks, Peter turned to the third guitar, a beautiful dark brown sunburst with no pickguard. It would probably take a beating from his claws, but he liked it anyway.

This one already felt much better than the previous two, and it was mostly in tune. Peter tested it out by playing the opening riff from A Hazy Shade of Winter. He had noticed that Stiles seemed to like Simon & Garfunkel, so it might serve him well to brush up on those. The rest of the song was a little dull, though, so Peter started another. He relished the slide of his fingers up the fret board, almost having forgotten what the sensation felt like. It was a little rough since he was used to using his claws to pluck the strings, but he found himself falling into a decent rhythm and decided to sing a little, since the room was empty.

"It's not time to make a change

Just relax, take it easy

You're still young, that's your fault

There's so much you have to know

Find a girl, settle down

If you want you can marry

Look at me, I am old, but I'm happy

I was once like you are now

And I know that it's not easy to be calm

When you've found something going on

But take your time, think a lot

Think of everything you've got

You will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not

How can I try to explain

When I do he turns away again

It's always been the same, same old story

From the moment I could talk

I was ordered to listen

Now there's a way and I know that I have to go away

I know, I have to go"

He slid his hand up the neck, reviving his vibrato as he played the instrumental solo. Instead of thinking about his own father, he found himself thinking about the Sheriff and Stiles. Peter's father had seen right through him from the very beginning, and that had put them at odds. He had always known when Peter was up to something, reprimanding him whenever possible. Peter had been a mama's boy; his mother was just so easy to charm and she doted on him ceaselessly. It had been a nice contrast to his father's harshness.

He wanted to think that the Sheriff had given him his blessing, in his own way, but he still wasn't sure if he had Stiles' blessing quite yet. There was something there last night, though, when he woke up with Stiles' fingers carding through his hair. He hadn't felt affection like that in a long time. It was about time for him to give a little of it back. He stilled his hands on the instrument and pondered the merits of a grand gesture when a salesman walked into the room. Peter stood and handed him the guitar, not interested in hearing any complimentary remarks about his playing.

"I'll take this one, please," Peter began, and then listed off his other requests. "And a soft case, a tuning fork, a strap, a capo, and extra strings." He looked down at his fingernails before saying, "A lot of extra strings. Heavier ones, if you have them." Peter left the store quickly and jogged back to the loft. He had some practicing to do.

Stiles woke up and groaned immediately, hand coming up to feel the lump on the back of his head. It was still tender, but at least it wasn't bleeding anymore. He thought back to the conversation he had had with Peter last night, and realized that he needed backup, but more specifically, Lydia. He needed Lydia. He wrote a text message and hit send, pulling himself out of bed to change.

I'm taking you to lunch.

Oh you are, are you?

Yes, pick me up please. Twenty minutes.

Fine, but we're going to Panera.

Stiles hated Panera. Lydia knew that he hated Panera. They always had too much bread and not enough meat on their stupid frou-frou sandwiches. But he didn't argue. He had more important things to worry about than what was for lunch.

Leave Jackson at home.

Stiles didn't get an answer to that, but he figured she knew something was up and would honor his request for privacy. He lumbered into the shower and got ready, popping a few painkillers while he was in the bathroom. He had rushed down the stairs and into his Chucks when he heard Lydia honk her horn outside. Stiles drummed on the dashboard with his fingers. Lydia just pursed her lips without saying anything, flipping her hair as she brought her eyes back to the road.

Once they were settled in a booth Lydia peered at Stiles over her Fuji apple salad, watching him gnaw on the end of his straw. She pointed her fork at him and demanded, "Spill."

Stiles looked back at her, mouth still around his straw but now motionless. He put it down and slid his hands underneath his thighs, straining his back against the chair and rocking a little. He decided to go for broke.

"I think I like Peter."

"Yes," Lydia replied.

"I mean like, I think I want to kiss him and stuff," he expanded.

"Yes," she said again.

"But he's sort of evil and creepy," Stiles said, getting to the crux of the problem, "and he's also like twice my age."

"Also, yes," Lydia said with a smirk, crunching on a slice of apple and wiping her mouth gently on a napkin so as not to disturb the perfection that was her lip gloss.

"What do I do?" he asked, pleading at her with wide brown eyes. He tried to picture what Scott's puppy dog face looked like and imitated that, maybe with a little bit of Isaac's pouty lips thrown in there, too.

"Well, why do you like him?" she asked like it was the simplest question in the world.

"Umm." He thought for a few seconds and then started babbling without drawing breath, pulling his hands out and gesticulating as he spoke, "He's intelligent, like really intelligent, like I think he might actually be an evil genius, and not that I'm really into the evil part of that equation, but it's nice to actually have someone who mentally challenges me besides you. He's sarcastic to levels that I didn't think were humanly possible. He's a little broken, the same way that Derek and I are a little broken, and I don't know why, but I kind of want to help him fix himself.

"He likes folk music, and cooking, and there's something almost… soft about him when he looks at me. He thinks I'm more than I am. He has some weird kind of faith in me that I don't quite understand." His voice softened just a bit as he continued. "I know he spent half of last year trying to kill us all, but I think he's trying to get better. He loves Derek. I think I finally see that now, that family is important to him and he wants to protect it as well as he can. He really hates himself for what he did to Laura, and I don't think he regrets killing all those other people that were involved in the fire, but I do think he regrets hurting you. I think he's actually a little jealous that I used to like you so much. He's not perfect, but neither am I, and he's not nice, but somehow he's almost kind. Well, at least he's kind to me. Somehow he makes everything quiet in here," he said as he tapped at his forehead. "And he likes Buffy," Stiles finished, like that was the most important thing on the list that he'd just spent the better part of two minutes laying out for Lydia.

"I think you kind of answered your own question, don't you?" she said, taking another bite of her salad and picking apart her baguette.

"You don't hate me for liking him? After what he did to you?" She could hear the panic in his voice, like her opinion could make or break this whole thing. It was kind of flattering in a way; not in the silly way he was always flattering her before, with the senseless crush and extravagant gifts, but in a real way. She was glad that he had pulled his head out of his ass and started treating her like a friend and not like a doll sitting on a pedestal. She needed a break from Jackson's bitchiness sometimes, and Stiles seemed to understand her need for intelligent companionship that didn't have anything to do with sex.

"No, I don't hate you," she admitted. "He was completely insane last year. I'm not saying that he was right or that his actions were justified, or that I forgive him, but there was a madness in him that isn't there anymore. He's a different wolf." She thought for a moment before continuing. "There was pain driving him before, more pain than any of us could ever imagine. Now I think the pain has been tempered by something. And I think that something is you."

Stiles thought about that for a moment, but she could see the small smile creeping onto his face.

"Plus he's hot like burning." Stiles couldn't help but laugh at that. Trust Lydia to see the bright side of the confirmed serial killer who nearly ripped her to shreds.

"He kissed me." Lydia smiled back at that, eyes brightening with the hook of potential gossip.

"Did you kiss him back?"

"No. He kissed me here," he said as he brought two fingers to the side of his face and rubbed his temple. "And then he disappeared wearing my clothes."

"Werewolves," she huffed, shaking her head. Stiles laughed loudly, kicking his feet out under the table. He felt a weight lift off himself, and finally reached down to grab his soup spoon and start eating.

It had already gone dark by the time Peter came up for air. Derek had passed by once or twice, smiling at him as he looked up song tabs on his laptop and strummed them all out in turn, showing more patience than Derek had seen since he was a child. YouTube really was a beautiful invention.

Isaac had come into the living room and sat down in the armchair hours ago; he'd since been lulled to sleep by the soft music. Derek sat down next to Peter on the couch and took a look at his laptop screen. He pulled it towards himself and clicked through the tabs that his uncle had open, stopping at one and pointing at the screen. "This one," Derek told him. "Play him this one."

"Can I borrow your car?" Peter asked, packing up his things.

"Yeah, sure," he replied, "good luck."

He made it to Stiles' house pretty quickly, pulled his guitar bag from the trunk, and bounded up the front steps. He took a deep breath and shook his arms out from shoulder to fingertip, then lifted one fist and knocked on the door. He heard Stiles slide in front of the door on his socks and flip the lock open. The younger man pulled the door open and greeted Peter with a smile, stepping aside to let him in.

"How's your head?" Peter asked as he kicked off his loafers; Derek had rescued them after all.

Stiles rubbed the back of his head gingerly and gave him a closed-mouthed smile. "Better than I thought it would be, but still pretty painful," he responded, moving further into the living room. Peter slipped the straps of his soft case from his shoulder and let it slide to the floor behind the coffee table. "What brings you to La Casa de Stilinski? Want to continue on with the Twilight Saga?" Stiles joked, leaning back in the armchair and putting his feet up on the table near Peter's knees.

"I thought I'd play for you," Peter said, unzipping the bag and pulling out his new guitar, "since you gave me the pleasure of singing to me last week." Stiles pretended that hearing Peter say the word pleasure didn't make the hair on his arms stand up. Peter just pulled out his tuning fork, smacked it on his knee and touched the end to the body of his twelve-string. Stiles stared, fascinated, as he watched Peter retune his guitar, turning the knobs seemingly infinitesimal amounts until he was satisfied. He must have been really sensitive to the vibrations, because he fiddled with the instrument far longer than Stiles expected him to and then pulled the strap up on his shoulder.

Peter strummed a chord to check his tuning one last time and then extended the claws on his right hand with a small flick of the wrist. Stiles sat up and leaned forward at that, growing more interested by the second. Peter began to pluck at the strings and Stiles leaned over even further, putting his elbows on his knees, eyes moving rapidly between Peter's two hands as they moved together, swift and sure. It was one of the sexiest things Stiles had ever seen. The chords were tinny and bright, and Stiles recognized the tune immediately. His eyes drifted to Peter's mouth as he began to sing, eyes closed, his head tilted slightly to one side.

"You fill up my senses

Like a night in the forest

Like the mountains in Springtime

Like a walk in the rain

Like a storm in the desert

Like a sleepy blue ocean

You fill up my senses

Come fill me again"

Peter's singing voice was rough in a way that his speaking voice was not. When Peter spoke, every word was perfectly enunciated, but his singing had a beautiful kind of gruffness to it that Stiles couldn't help but be fascinated by. He found himself getting up from the chair and sitting down next to Peter on the couch.

"Come let me love you

Let me give my life to you

Let me drown in your laughter

Let me die in your arms

Let me lay down beside you

Let me always be with you

Come let me love you

Come love me again"

Stiles heard Peter's low voice break in the middle of the second verse, and after their conversation yesterday, there was no wonder as to why. He hoped that maybe Savannah had been in another room. Maybe Peter hadn't had to watch her take her last breath, or even worse, see her body start to burn. Peter hummed the interlude and Stiles stared, transfixed as Peter used two fingers at superhuman speed to imitate the tremolo of what Stiles thought was a mandolin in the original.

"Let me give my life to you

Come let me love you

Come love me again"

He carried on with the song, only opening his eyes when he heard Stiles join him for the last chorus. Stiles' eyes seemed to be getting a little watery, but his voice was steady. Peter found his display of tenacity worryingly attractive.

"You fill up my senses

Like a night in the forest

Like the mountains in Springtime

Like a walk in the rain

Like a storm in the desert"

There was a pause during which Peter looked up at Stiles and smiled broadly. He continued alone to end the song, eyes never leaving the younger man's face.

"Like a sleepy blue ocean

You fill up my senses

Come fill me again"

Peter finished the last chord and ducked his head, pulling the guitar from his body and leaning it against the couch. Stiles broke the silence by saying, "That was my parents' wedding song." Peter smiled, closing his eyes again momentarily.

"Savannah walked down the aisle to A Case of You. Joni Mitchell was her favorite," he said, turning toward Stiles so he could look at him directly, bringing a bent leg up on the seat of the couch. Stiles moved closer still, hands twitching slightly in his lap.

"Thank you, Peter," he said tenderly, "for the song, for yesterday, well, for everything. I don't really know what I'm doing here but..." he trailed off slightly but reached out his right hand to Peter's cheek, rubbing a thumb across his bottom lip.

"We'll figure it out," Peter told him, and with that, Stiles surged forward and pressed his lips softly against the wolf's. It was sweet and perfect. Peter opened his lips to inhale a small gasp and Stiles pressed even closer, pushing harder against Peter's mouth and slotting their lips together. He spared a moment to wonder if this was Stiles' first kiss, but quickly decides that it didn't matter in the slightest. If he could have it his way, his lips would be the only ones touching Stiles' for the rest of his life.

Peter lifted both of his hands to cup Stiles' face and continued their kiss, opening his mouth again to engulf the younger man's. He shivered slightly when Stiles ran his tongue across his bottom lip and inched it curiously into his mouth. Peter couldn't believe this was happening. He never expected Stiles to actually want this with him. He was twice Stiles' age. He was broken. He had hurt Stiles' friends time and time again, and yet Stiles was giving him a chance. His wolf howled with joy in the back of his mind and Peter promised it that he would take this slowly, he would not mess this up, because he was positive that he would never get another chance like the one Stiles was allowing him right now.

The older man forced himself to slowly pull away from Stiles' lips. Now that he knew what it was like to kiss his human, he really didn't want to stop. Stiles opened his eyes and looked at Peter, mouth still open, a look of disbelief on his face. "Do you really want this with me, Stiles?" He wanted to be sure before going too far. If Stiles accepted him now, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to leave. "I'm an old man. Do you really want to tell your friends you're with me? To tell your father?"

"I don't want to hide," Stiles told him, "there's been enough lying in this house in the last year. I don't want to do that again. My father could barely look at me; it was like he barely knew me anymore." Peter nodded, trying not to get his hopes up, but finding himself failing miserably in that endeavor.

"We can go as slow as you'd like to, but you have to know one thing." Stiles took a deep breath, wondering what other secrets Peter could possibly be hiding. "I don't just want the weekend or the summer," the wolf continued, "I was thinking long-term."

Stiles didn't really know what to say to that. He knew he was only seventeen. He knew that Peter had enough emotional baggage to fill a cargo carrier. Somehow none of that seemed to matter at that moment and he found himself saying, "Okay."

"Okay?" Peter questioned, like he couldn't quite believe that was the word that had come out of Stiles' mouth.

"Yeah, I said 'okay.'" He smiled broadly and moved forward to kiss Peter again. This time Peter didn't try to mentally stifle the wolf that was crying mate mate mate in his mind. His human was definitely too young for that, but that didn't mean he couldn't let the wolf dream about it until he was ready. Peter hadn't been lying about taking things slowly though, so he gently pushed Stiles backward a little until he could press their foreheads together, eyes roving over the beauty marks that were littered around his cheeks and jaw.

"Want to watch another movie?" he asked, allowing a smirk to creep across his lips. That was a normal date night activity, right? It had been a long time since he'd done this, and even longer since he'd dated a teenager.

"Eclipse?" Stiles asked, and Peter rolled his eyes but stretched out on the couch in acquiescence anyway. "Yes!" The younger man fist pumped and ran upstairs to his bedroom to grab the DVD, returning with two sodas and a bowl of microwave popcorn. The intro started up and Peter couldn't hold back the snark. These past few days had been so emotionally laden that he could really use a break from all the romantic confessions and life-altering discussions.

"I really can't stand how she butchers Frost right in the first scene," Peter griped, grabbing a handful of popcorn and settling back on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table next to Stiles'. "He's talking about Dante and here she is making it all romantic. It's complete crap."

Stiles raised his eyebrows at the man sitting next to him and Peter defended himself. "What? I read," he supplied. "Maybe you should get your head out of the herbology books every once in a while. This isn't Hogwarts."

Stiles just tossed a handful of popcorn at his face. Peter picked up each piece and popped them into his mouth, then pulled an arm around the man and settled back with him against his side. Stiles pulled his legs up on the couch and leaned in as they watched the movie.

"These wolves are just embarrassing," Peter said a half hour later. "How did they get so big? I mean, Talia was bigger than a normal wolf, but still, these are just gigantic. Emmett can't even get his arms around them."

"Can all Alphas turn into wolves?" Stiles asked, never one to let new knowledge pass him by.

"I don't know, maybe? I only ever saw Talia do it, and I think my grandfather could as well, but I never saw it happen." Stiles hummed at that, obviously thinking up some sort of werewolf experiment that he could run on Derek later.

Twenty minutes later, both men were sleeping as the newborn army continued to attack the Cullens and their werewolf friends. The TV must have been on pretty loud, because Peter didn't hear the Sheriff walk in the front door and hang up his gun belt. He should really have locked it up in the safe when he was at home, but after hearing about all the things that went bump in the night, John figured that it couldn't hurt to have a weapon on hand, even when he was at the dinner table. He heard the soundtrack on the TV and knew that Stiles must be watching those stupid Twilight movies again, but what he didn't expect to see was his son curled up on the couch with a middle-aged werewolf, a twelve-stringed guitar leaning against the armrest of the couch. He cleared his throat loudly and enjoyed watching Stiles flail awake and smack Peter directly in the jaw. This caused Stiles to growl out an oww and start shaking his hand.

"Totally Bella," he heard Peter mumble, not even bothering to stifle his laugh. Stiles looked offended and opened his mouth like he planned on offering up some explanation, but the Sheriff just held his hand up and his son fell quiet.

"Curfew is one a.m., eleven on school nights, and no sleepovers until he's eighteen."

"Yes, sir," Peter said with absolute sincerity. The Sheriff shuffled off to change out of his uniform. Peter looked at Stiles, who was still opening and closing his mouth like a fish. He nudged Peter in the stomach with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

"What was that?" he asked. Peter just smiled slightly.

"We've come to an understanding, I think," Peter responded, kissing the younger man on the cheek and standing up. "I think I should get going. See you tomorrow?" he asked, hopeful.

"Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow," Stiles answered, walking him to the door. He didn't have to ask for a goodnight kiss because Peter was already leaning in and pressing his lips chastely to Stiles'.

"Goodnight, Przemysław," the wolf said. Stiles tried to ask how Peter knew his real name, but the older man pressed a firm hand over his mouth, enjoying the sensation of Stiles' smooth lips on his palm. "I'll tell you later," he said softly, and headed back to the Camaro.

Stiles stood there with his fingers pressed against his lips until he saw the taillights turn the corner at the end of the block. He went inside and locked the door behind him, walked back into the living room to shut off the TV, and was met with the sight of Peter's guitar still leaning against the couch. Maybe Peter did still have a few secrets, but Stiles thought he could let him keep this particular one. He smiled and hopped up the stairs to go to bed.

The loft was deceptively quiet as Stiles slid the door open. Peter and Derek were speaking in quick, soft tones, standing over the large drafting table and looking at a map of Beacon Hills. Isaac sat on the stairs, watching them but not offering up any opinions. Lydia had Peter's MacBook open on the coffee table, silently directing Jackson and Allison, who were poring over ancient-looking books. Scott was playing a game on his phone.

Stiles dropped his backpack by the door and slipped off his Chucks. He walked directly over to the drafting table and put a confident hand on Peter's hip, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek. The rest of the wolves heard the muted smack noise and looked over. Scott strode over to the pair and pulled Stiles back with a hand on his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he asked, three parts concerned, one part curious.

"Kissing my boyfriend hello," Stiles responded, tone assured, daring Scott to contradict him. "I'd think you'd recognize the gesture."

Allison snorted softly into her hand and Lydia took that moment to finally raise her eyes away from the laptop screen. Jackson actually had his mouth open in shock. Stiles wasn't sure if he should be proud that he had put that stupid look on his handsome face or insulted that Jackson thought Stiles couldn't land the sexiest wolf in the room.

"But," Scott sputtered, "he's like super old!" A low rumble escaped Peter's throat. The drafting table shook slightly and Stiles knew he had to break the mood before things got out of hand.

"I'm aware," Stiles answered, pulling his arm around Peter's waist. "He's also technically been dead. Hey honey, does that make it necrophilia?" he quipped, looking at Peter, who rolled his eyes in response.

Isaac gave him a laugh at that one, but Scott just looked even more indignant.

"I'll tell your dad. I'm serious, Stiles, this is just wrong," Scott threatened his best friend.

"He already knows," Peter told him, rubbing his nose against Stiles' temple in a gesture Scott was all too familiar with. He'd done it to Allison enough to know that Peter was scenting him. It was a display of ownership, a way of warning others off.

"What?"

"He told me curfew is at one and no sleepovers until he's eighteen."

Allison stepped toward the group and gently pulled Scott's hand, turning his body into hers. "They're happy," she told him, "let it be." She pushed him backwards until they were on the couch again and put her head down on his shoulder. Stiles could tell that Scott wasn't convinced, mouth still open like he had more to say, but Stiles could argue with him later. He turned back to Derek and looked at the map.

They had been dividing the town into sectors, trying to methodically search for Erica and Boyd, but Stiles had to admit that he didn't think they were even in Beacon Hills anymore. "Maybe we have to branch out a bit. They've obviously gone to ground. We're not going to find them in a hole in the preserve, there's no way they're that stupid," Stiles told them. "Are there any other wolves in the area you could ask? Maybe they've been seen elsewhere."

Derek shook his head and frowned. "Not anymore," he said, defeated.

"Would Deaton help? He must have contacts still," Peter suggested.

"I'll ask him tomorrow," Stiles offered, "there's something I have to ask him about anyway."

Peter gave him an encouraging look and Stiles smiled back at him. "I don't think there's any more we can do tonight," Derek admitted, still frowning.

"Excellent!" Stiles clapped his hands together in excitement. That wasn't really what Peter had been expecting, but his human was nothing if not unpredictable. "I brought my old N64, and you guys may be werewolves, but I am the Alpha of Mario Kart." And with that, he grabbed his backpack and started pulling controllers out of it.

Peter gave Derek a shrug and a smile, following Stiles over to the couch. Allison and Scott moved down to the floor and Stiles finished setting everything up before joining Peter on the couch. Peter put an arm around his shoulders. Scott pulled a face, and Allison elbowed him in the stomach, grinning as he made a satisfying mph noise.

Stiles held out a controller to Peter, who refused it, passing it to Isaac instead. "I'll watch for now," he told Stiles, snuggling into his side a little closer. Derek shuffled into the room and asked them how many orders of dumplings they needed.

It was a few weeks later and the Sheriff was climbing the three steps up to his front door. He stopped before entering. There was a lot of noise coming from inside, and that wasn't particularly surprising considering he saw three cars parked out front. He didn't think there was a pack dinner planned for tonight, but it was possible he'd let it slip his mind after the three night shifts he'd had that week. He listened for a moment and picked out a few familiar voices, but there was also the sound of a guitar, feet shuffling on the floor, and a lot of giggling interspersed with what could be either encouraging or disparaging comments.

The door was, of course, unlocked, and he would have lectured his son about home invasion if there hadn't been a handful of werewolves and an expert hunter in his living room. The Sheriff let his feet lead him toward the group. They were much louder than they had sounded on the other side of the door, and he took a minute to examine the proceedings.

Peter was sitting on one end of the couch, strumming a guitar, with Stiles sitting so close he would probably have been in his lap if the instrument weren't in the way. Peter was watching him sing like he was pondering the possibility of putting Stiles behind the guitar in his lap anyway and playing around him. Scott and Lydia were draped across the armchair, catcalling the others. The coffee table had been pushed aside and Allison looked to be teaching Isaac to dance, or at least trying to. The blond boy was staring at his feet as if they had betrayed him, and Allison couldn't keep the smile off her face, flashing her dimples at Scott every time they managed to turn around. Jackson and Derek were in the corner, leaning towards each other slightly. They looked like they were trying to prove that they weren't interested in what was going on, but the way Jackson kept stealing glances at Lydia gave him away.

The Sheriff leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, forehead crinkled slightly, but looking pleased. He knew the song well. He took a minute to listen to his son, whose tenor voice was cutting through the rest of the noise.

"No use cryin', talking to a stranger
Namin' the sorrow you've seen
Too many sad times, too many bad times
Nobody knows what you mean

But if somehow you could pack up your sorrows
And give them all to me
You would lose them, I know how to use them
Give them all to me

No use ramblin', walkin' in the shadows
Trailin' a wanderin' star
No one beside you, no one to hide you
Nobody knows where you are

But if somehow you could pack up your sorrows
And give them all to me
You would lose them, I know how to use them
Give them all to me

No use gamblin' runnin' in the darkness
Looking for spirit that's free
Too many wrong times, too many long times
Nobody knows what you see

But if somehow you could pack up your sorrows
And give them all to me
You would lose them, I know how to use them
Give them all to me"

It wasn't often that Peter found himself in want of a banjo, but this may have been one of those times. He gave it his best anyway, enjoying the way Stiles put a hand on his thigh by way of encouragement. The Sheriff watched for a minute as Peter played a solo. He was suitably impressed by the way the wolf's hands flew up the neck of the guitar, giving the song that recognizable twang. But then he felt his eyebrows creep up his forehead when he noticed that Peter was plucking at the strings with distinctly unhuman fingernails. The Sheriff stepped fully into the room and held out a hand to Lydia. She hopped out of the armchair with an eagerness the Sheriff didn't know she had in her, and allowed him to put a gentlemanly hand on her waist.

Jackson pulled his attention away from Derek and watched as the older man swung his girlfriend around the living room. Allison plopped herself down into Scott's lap and Isaac moved out of the way, sitting on the floor by their feet. The Sheriff held Lydia's right arm in between their chests instead of outward, the way he used to dance with his wife, and gave her a few twirls whenever he felt moved to.

"No use roamin', lying by the roadside
Seekin' a satisfied mind
Too many highways, too many byways
And nobody's walkin' behind

But if somehow you could pack up your sorrows
And give them all to me
You would lose them, I know how to use them
Give them all to me"

Peter ended the song and the Sheriff pushed Lydia out by her right hand until she was outstretched on his left side. She had some skills hidden in there somewhere, because she brought her left hand out to the side, raised above her head like they had been ballroom dancing, and cocked out her hip before taking a bow, curls bouncing on their way up.

"One more?" the Sheriff asked, looking over at the man sitting next to his son. Peter nudged Stiles lightly and used his head to gesture towards Allison. Stiles stood up and gave her a dramatic bow. She took his hand with a giggle and moved them into the middle of the room. Wiping his palms on the legs of his dark wash jeans, Peter settled back in and began to play. The room fell silent, listening intently to Peter's skilled playing. Then he started to sing, surprising nearly everyone. Stiles gave him a wink and turned back to Allison.

"You've got the cool water
When the fever runs high
You got the look of lovelight in your eyes
I was in crazy motion
Til' you calmed me down
It took a little time
But you calmed me down

Let me live in your city
The river's so pretty, the air is so fine
Let me room where I can lay over
I'm just a traveler eating up travelin' time
I'm just a traveler eating up
My travelin' time"

Derek looked over at his uncle. Well, if that's not a grand gesture, he doesn't know what is. Romantic bastard. Even if Allison was the one Stiles was dancing with, there was no question that Peter was singing this song for Stiles. Derek crossed his arms over his chest, but still gave the group a taste of his Proud Alpha expression. Being a pack of unruly teenagers, it wasn't one that they saw very often. Isaac ducked his head, giving the room a view of his curls, smiling into his knees.

"They've got a wall in China
It's a thousand miles long
To keep out the foreigners
They made it strong
And I got a wall around me
You can't even see
Took a little time
To get next to me

Let me live in your city
The river's so pretty, the air so fine
Let me room where I can lay over
I'm just a traveler eating up travelin' time
I'm just a traveler eating up my travelin' time"

Knowing what was coming next, Stiles took Allison's hand and put it into Scott's, stepping aside to let them finish the dance together. He wasn't sure Scott had ever danced a step in his life (that formal totally didn't count), but he rocked Allison slowly from side to side, and it was lovely in its own way. Allison laid her head down on his shoulder and closed her eyes as Stiles moved back to the couch to retake his seat next to Peter.

"Some people never say those words
I love you
It's not their style to be so bold
Some people never say those words
I love you
But like a child, they're longing to be told

Let me live in your city
The river's so pretty, the air is so fine
Let me room where I can lay over
I'm just a traveler eating up travelin' time
I'm just a traveler eating up
my travelin' time"

The Sheriff watched Stiles watch Peter. He had pulled his lips inward, but managed to still be smiling. It was a shy kind of expression that he had never seen on his son's face before. He sure as hell never saw him look at the redhead like that. He figured the couple could use a minute alone, so when the song ended he clapped his hands together.

"Well, I'm going up to change. Somebody order me a meat lover's," he told them, and headed up the stairs. The pack broke up and filed into the kitchen to follow his orders and grab drinks.

He heard Stiles yell "Veggie!" as he got to his bedroom.

Peter pulled the guitar over his head and put it back into its case, pulling the zipper closed. Once he had finished, Stiles grabbed his left hand and pulled it into his lap, folding it up in his own. "I didn't think anyone knew that song," Stiles told him, eyes bright.

"I did some research," Peter admitted, giving him a small smile. Stiles leaned in, placing a hand behind Peter's neck, and kissed him. Peter didn't think that was ever going to get old. Stiles pulled away slightly to rest his head on Peter's shoulder, still holding his larger hand in both of his. Peter leaned in, rubbing his nose against his human's forehead, scenting him a bit.

"I love you," Stiles told him. When Peter looked down, he found that Stiles' eyes were closed, head still nuzzling into his neck. Peter didn't have to pretend that his eyes weren't watering because no one was there to see it.

"I love you too, Przemysław."

"Don't let anyone hear you say that. Ever."

"I promise," Peter said. Stiles believed him.