Peter was utterly bored. A month in what was basically a maximum security prison would do that to a person. What was worse than that was he still had a long time until he got out. He would get out. And when he did get out he would be smarter about his power play and not make the same mistakes twice. It was all just a matter of patience and that was something that Peter had gotten quite skilled with over the years. Growing up he was never that patient of a kid, but as he got older he learned that often waiting and watching from the background produced the best results. Patience and time would be the key to getting out of here and Peter had all the time in the world.
He was laying on the poor excuse of a bed staring at the bland beige ceiling because that was all there was to do. He already did his usual routine of push-ups and the like, something that when he first was put there he had to force himself to do since (and he would never openly admit this) he felt weak. The wolfesbane drug had done a number on him and he hated it. He couldn't properly shift, he felt vulnerable and vulnerability was something that Peter once promised himself he would never feel again. He couldn't talk to his cellmate because one look at his creepy cyclops eye almost drove him insane (again). Peter decided to do his damndest to never look at the man again. It was a pain, and staring at the walls brought some unwelcomed memories of his time in the coma, but as he always did: he would do whatever was necessary to survive.
During the times when Peter did not have homicidal urges towards all those responsible for his predicament, he tried to look on the more positive bits because those are what would keep him as sane as possible. Thinking about all the things he would do when he got out was something that he found was relaxing to do. He would think about buying much better clothes than his current ones, eating edible food such as a steak and maybe having a glass of wine with it, and buying some reading material. Which, yes, lack of reading material was an issue and Peter was hated it. He had nothing to read and although a month of this hellhole had lowered his standards significantly, he would not stoop to reading cheap romance novels. Apparently at some point he would be able to request books but he had no idea when that day would come.
At the risk of the sounding like a thwarted Scooby-Doo villain, Peter cursed that meddling Scott McCall.
Just when Peter was going to shut his eyes in hopes of some sleep there was a noise outside of the cell. His werewolf hearing may be impaired but he still he could hear such a loud commotion as his least favorite guard, Tobias, heading his way. Peter sat up and looked as the man dressed in all white scrubs came walking towards the door. At first Peter thought it was for his daily dose of wolfesbane drugs, but he quickly remembered that he already had that earlier this morning.
"Hale, you have a visitor." The man spoke with a gruff voice. At this Peter raised his eyebrows. Who in the world would like to visit him? Peter's thoughts were interrupted as Tobias continued on, "I'm going to let you out. Try anything and I'll put you down like the dog you are."
Peter tried his best to refrain from snarling. It took everything he had in him and instead nodded and remained blank faced as he got up to go towards the door. Snarling and snark was not needed in this situation, this called for a role to be played and Peter was the best actor there was. Tobias escorted him out of the cell and Peter felt so exhilarated. After a month of nothing but that cell, caged like an animal, he was let out, no matter how limited the freedom.
He was led down several hallways that all looked exactly the same. He saw other inmates, some looking more normal than others, Peter longed to find the other supernatural creatures of prison but that time would come sooner rather than later. After walking down one more hallway he was led into a plain room with a table and two chairs. Peter let his mind drift a bit and decided that one of these days they should invest in an interior decorator. The guard had him sit down in of the chairs. Not soon long, after though someone walked in, more specifically it was Stiles.
"Well this is a surprise." Peter said as he looked the teenager over. He was even more surprised when the guard left the two alone.
Stiles sat down in the chair across from Peter looking both nervous, angry, and annoyed. "I'm just here to see if you know anything about witches, specifically the Bromwell clan."
Peter let out a laugh. It was loud and most likely bothersome to Stiles but Peter could not help it. After everything, Stiles of all people was coming to him for help. Stiles the only one that he never really gained any trust from even when Derek and Scott did. Once Peter calmed down he smiled, "I'm sorry Stiles, I really am, it's just after a month of this hell you coming here asking for information is pretty funny."
"Yeah, well, I ran out of options."
"You must be truly desperate to come to me for help." Peter replied with a feral grin. After so much isolation human interaction felt great, it was almost like a high for Peter.
Stiles furrowed his eyebrows and somehow managed to look even more annoyed. "Did you just quote Thor?"
Peter merely shrugged, "Loki was a really interesting character."
Stiles shook his head and Peter could tell he was suppressing a smirk. "Did you even have time to catch up on movies in between planning everyone's demise?"
"I wasn't going to kill everyone." Peter said and it was the truth. He did not want to kill Derek or Malia, or even Stiles. He mostly just wanted to kill Scott and Kate. "And I had plenty of nights when I would catch up on books and movies I missed during my six-year stint as a less cold Captain America. I don't get to do that anymore though."
Stiles simply rolled his eyes at this, "This is your fault. You brought this upon yourself." Maybe it was the wolfesbane drug or maybe he was completely correct when he felt that Stiles was saying that more for himself than for Peter. It almost sounded like a mantra that Stiles had to tell himself. Did he feel guilty about Peter's predicament? Peter would be shocked if was, but regardless Peter decided to push the boundaries a bit.
"I know I've done terrible things, but even Charles Manson gets some TV or at the very least some decent reading material."
Stiles looked like he was contemplating his reply and Peter thought he was going to admit something, but instead Stiles opted for a different route. "Look, if it wasn't super important I would definitely not be here. You're not exactly my favorite person and I hate this place, but truthfully Malia and Lydia got involved in some deep complicated mess and Liam got included and now he got cursed and is dying. No one knows what to do, not even Deaton. So any information would be great."
"Liam?"
Stiles looked genuinely confused for a moment before saying, "Scott's beta? We all went down to Mexico together? Memory getting kind of short there, zombie wolf?"
"I didn't pay attention to his name. I had better things on mind." Peter said with a shrug. Then he sighed dramatically. Helping out could only lead to good things. It's why Derek didn't try to kill him the second he came back from the dead. It might help save from this hell too. "All right, I'll tell you everything I can."
At this Stiles' eyes lit up and he looked almost hopeful. Almost. "What's the catch?
Peter grinned showing all his teeth. "Nothing too taxing. A pack of reeses and a book would be lovely."
It almost looked like Stiles wasn't going to go for it but then the Stiles nodded and suddenly Peter felt better than ever. "All right. Here is what you need to know. Aggie Bromwell is-"
They talked for another twenty minutes. Peter giving whatever information he knew and Stiles asking a thousand different questions. Two days later Peter was greeted with a pack of Reeses and the first Game of Thrones book.
He hoped another supernatural crisis would arise again so his help was needed. Then, again, it was Beacon Hills. Something was always bound to happen.