Life had been quite good to them, so it was time to run out of luck. Stiles wasn't really sure yet how it had happened or even what exactly had happened, but Peter had disappeared and, by now, more than a week had passed without any sign of him. While he rationally knew that no, this wasn't killing him, no matter how much it hurt, and yes, life would go on and he could deal with it, the situation was as fucked up as it could possibly be and it wasn't helped any by the fact that he had begun noticing the pitying glances the others sent his way.

Isaac was cautiously keeping quiet about it for he didn't knew the older man good enough, but Scott had started insisting they should let it rest, that Peter would turn up on his own time if he ever decided to do so. Lydia, never quite approving of his relationship, but curiously observing the changes they both went through together and obviously at least satisfied with that, was smart enough to keep her thoughts to herself after Stiles had exploded once at his best mate's comments. After some persuasion she had been willing to help him figure out what was going on and was subtly trying to cheer him up.

Even Derek, though, who had been growing closer to his uncle again, couldn't help the doubts starting to creep into his mind, probably expecting to be hurt yet again by betrayal or loss. At least he was able to confirm what Stiles already knew, that Peter hadn't left the apartment in any hurry, for fear or injury, either way. He hadn't smelled anything unusual, neither traces of blood, nor recent high amounts of stress-related hormones.

In the apartment everything was at its appropriate place, no signs of a struggle whatsoever. On the table in the kitchen, however, there lay the shopping list that Peter had written before he had disappeared. While he had been at it, he had called Stiles, their last conversation, asking whether he wanted any sweets. He always tended to forget those lists when he went, but apparently scribbling things down once was enough to remember because his partner always managed to get everything he had noted, so nothing new there, no hint to what might have happened.

Stiles had gone to all the stores Peter normally frequented, practically interrogating the cashiers for information, showing photos until one lady remembered. She couldn't tell him anything more than that she had seen him on that last day, but he had thanked her profusely.

Without the help of the law, his father wasn't able to get his hands on the shop's tapes and Stiles was trying to avoid an official investigation in case Peter's disappearance had more to do with the supernatural world, the chances of that being very high, knowing him. But it was good to know that Peter had been unharmed when he was last seen, even that he had gone grocery shopping was a relief.

That supported his theory that Peter hadn't had any intent to just vanish from the face of the earth. It was a concept he had derived from what he knew the police was taught. Apparent suicides, for example, oftentimes still led to some kind of investigation because possible plans for the future from the victim, like searching for a job, wanting to move or interest in a relationship with someone else, were a contradiction to the wish to end their life. And so was your normal grocery shopping to disappearing without a trace, in his opinion, though maybe on another scale.

But even if, in the end, Peter had disappeared willingly, had gone into hiding and was just keeping a low profile, he would have told him, Stiles was absolutely convinced of that. Maybe not instantly, maybe not directly, but he would have found a way to give him some sort of message.

Given the circumstances, he had no clue what was going on or where Peter might be. Without much evidence to begin with, most leads hadn't brought forth anything new. Stiles wasn't making any progress and despair had latched itself onto his spine, hunching his shoulders and bringing with it a headache he couldn't get rid of.

He almost wasn't surprised when he heard scratching below his window from where he was huddled in his self made blanket fort, ridiculous as it was. If Peter wanted to come in, he'd climb up, but his mind seemingly liked to play tricks on him. Or maybe he was dreaming, having fallen asleep while wallowing in self-pity.

Sighing, Stiles crawled out from within his blanket fort and went to the window, ready to shoo away his hallucinations or maybe just the stray cat that liked to mark its territory there since Peter had started using the front the door instead. He was not ready to face a giant wolf, staring back at him with unnaturally blue eyes, though.

He really hated himself a little bit then, for the hope suddenly rushing through his body, winding around his heart and squeezing his lungs. For his burning eyes and the words stuck in his throat. He sounded almost choked, voice breaking over a simple name, when he finally managed to open his mouth. "Peter?"

Whimpering, the wolf raised one of its huge paws and placed it against the wall. With its head slightly tilted to the side and its ears perked up, it looked like an over-sized dog.

If Stiles almost broke his neck in his haste to run down the stairs and get out of the house, nobody was there to see it. So what? He simply wasn't very good at suffering alone. He skidded to a halt just in front of the animal, arms flailing, feet freezing on the cold grass. "Dammit, Peter! What happened?"

Stiles cautiously took a step forward, not exactly hesitating, but approaching with his hands raised a little bit in what he hoped was a calming gesture. Once Peter had trusted him enough to share this with him, it hadn't taken him long to realize that as a wolf he perceived his surroundings slightly differently than he did as a human, even his thought process following somewhat other patterns.

He didn't know why his partner had assumed this form now, but it mattered little in comparison to the joy at having him back at all, whatever his appearance. Thus, he crouched down and held one of his hands out, a breathless chuckle escaping him when a wet nose gently pushed against his palm, then brushed over his wrist and warm breath tickled his skin.

"Okay. That's good, I can work with this." He let out a relieved sigh and nudged the animal's head up, til it looked him in the eyes. "Do you want to come up to my room?" He stood up and stepped aside and the wolf walked ahead, so he took that as a good sign, not quite sure what he would have done otherwise. Once they were there, though, he regretted having asked as it glanced between Stiles and his blanket fort. He cleared his throat, somewhat embarrassed. "Don't look at me like that. Wait here."

He rushed into his bathroom and closed the door with most likely more force than was strictly necessary, before leaning heavily against it. Maybe he was just imagining things, he thought, staring at his ashen, trembling reflection in the mirror. He splashed some cold water on his face, trying to focus on something other than the chaos he was feeling in that moment. When he stepped out of the bathroom again, he was half prepared to find noone there.

As it was, two glowing blue eyes gazed at him from within the darkness of the blanket fort so Stiles crawled into the literal wolf's den. It was a tight fit, since he tried to give the animal as much space as possible, and if they wound up curled together there on the floor between all the pillows and blankets, after all, Stiles would blame it on Peter.

It wasn't long before he started running his fingers through the soft fur on the animal's back, trying to loosen the tight muscles underneath while he attempted to get some answers out of his still transformed partner. After a few simple yes or no questions along the lines of 'Are you voluntarily keeping this form?', 'So there are no Hunters or other werewolves involved?', 'Was it another supernatural creature then?' that become more specific the closer he got to the core of the matter, he was rewarded with a low growl and narrowed eyes at the mention of a certain witch they had the misfortune to be acquainted with.

Apparently that bitch had been quite adamant about having been betrayed by them during a previous deal and used Peter as a way to vent her frustrations. Stiles was only comforted by the fact that the other one believed it to be nothing more than a temporary spell that would eventually fade on its own. Nonetheless, he was terribly upset by what had happened and that he still wasn't able to help.

His partner sat up then and thrust his head against his shoulder, almost knocking him over with the force, and he wrapped his arms around the wolf's neck, hiding his face in the thick fur and blinking away regret and residual fear and so much more. He waited for some kind of sign that Peter didn't approve, that this was too much for him in his current form, already imprisoned in an animal's body as he was, much the same way he had been caged in his mind during the coma, but instead he only snuggled closer, cold snout pressing against his collarbone.

"Don't leave me like that ever again", Stiles begged with a strangled voice. "You hear me?" He pulled back, just a bit, to look into the electric blue eyes still so familiar to him. "I was hoping, no, I knew you'd return. I love you", he said, deliberately, his tongue a springboard for every syllable.

Communication wasn't as difficult as it once had been between them like this, but, then again, Peter was not only very eloquent if only he chose to be, no, he had also always been able to express himself rather well through looks. Well, no one could understand this fond eyeroll or that irritated huff the wrong way and if his smug grin showed a bit more teeth than usual, it wasn't as if Stiles would complain, just glad to be able to tell what the other one was thinking.

He repeated his words many a time over the next hours, as he turned off the lights to go to sleep in hopes of finally getting a good night's rest, over hot cocoa at midnight after a nightmare that just had to disturb him, it absolutely didn't matter where, some small part of him, possibly stupidly childish or just hopelessly romantic, hoping that maybe this fairytale's curse could be broken by true love, too. Admitting it was the most joyous thing he'd ever done and he was incredibly grateful he could even still do so with the essential audience present. Still, he looked his partner in the eyes and prayed, heart thumping wildly, that he'd turn to him and say -

"I love you, too, Stiles."

Later, much later, after he had had the others apologize for ever doubting them, Peter offered what he hadn't been able to convey without words of his meeting with the witch, a deep frown on his face all the while. "The old hag said: 'if the beast can learn to love, his beauty might just return to him.' I'm still not sure whether she actually meant you in some bizarre version of 'La Belle et la Bête', if this was some kind of threat, or whether she was implying the transformation."

"So, your reassurance back then about it being non-permanent was merely based on some weak assumption? Good to know." Stiles sighed exasperatedly, not yet able to truly be angry with his partner after all that had happened. "Well, I think she was just envious. You know, of your love and your beauty."

"Hey, I am just as beautiful when I'm a wolf", the older one exclaimed theatrically.

He had to admit, however, he wasn't convinced all of the indignation was faked and chuckled lightly, "Yes, you are. Never doubt that. And never doubt my love."

The other man grumbled, "I don't -"

"Peter. You just said yourself that this magic was connected to your feelings, or your thoughts more likely. At least it was supposed to be the case. How many times did I have to tell you for you to believe me, for the spell to revoke itself?"