Spell of Forthcoming's Spent
Chapter 3: Keeping Up With Stiles—A Feat Only for Gods… Or Werewolves
Disclaimer: I own neither the show Teen Wolf of its Characters.
Peter can say that he knew that John was going to call. The man was strapped for help, and Stiles didn't make it any easier on the man. But he had thought it'd be at a more reasonable time.
It was three o'clock in the morning if his blinking alarm clock was correct, and he was dead asleep when the ring sounded throughout the room. Now ever since his little escapade into his not-future a few weeks back he had been a little twitchy to things… like the burner on the stove, the fireplace, Derek's claws, and loud ringing noises. He wasn't proud of it, but he was getting better, and what else could he do, other than wait it out.
Reaching out he put the phone to his ear, "'ello," he sleep slurred.
"Peter? Peter I'm so sorry for calling like this, but I need help. I just got called in. It's all hands on deck at the station because there was an abduction of an eight year old girl and I tried Melissa, but she's on the night shift, and her babysitter refuses to watch Stiles again after last time. And my parents are out of town, and Claudia's parents live four hours away and can't be here. I just didn't know who else to call." John sounded on the verge of having a mental break down.
"John, it's okay, I'll be there in ten minutes, just take a breath."
Peter could hear the man deflate from the stress, and had to smile.
"Okay, yeah, see you then… and Peter," John called.
"Yes John?"
"Thank you."
Peter hung up and grabbed his jacket and a pair of clothes to change into for later in the morning. Picking up his shoes he grabbed his wallet and keys, before heading for the front door.
In the entrance hall, Talia and Robert stood. Talia was alert and gazed at him as he approached just as Robert looked dead on his feet. He had probably only been asleep for little over and hour, where Talia was strict in her schedule to be in bed by ten with her work schedule. They both wore robes, standing next to each other offering staunch support. To each other, or him, Peter had no clue.
"John called; he needs someone to watch Stiles. There was an abduction of an eight year old girl and he had no one else." Peter supplied.
Talia nodded, "Just be careful." She opened the door for him and ushered him out, knowing that he would fill her in on more later.
Peter arrived at the Stilinski residence in a little over seven minutes. John was at the door as he pulled into the drive, his uniform on and his gun holstered.
"Again, I'm so sorry Peter," John tried.
Peter stepped up to the man, deciding to be a bit bold, he put his finger on the man's lips, "Think nothing of it. I don't mind in the least."
John huffed and smiled. "I don't know when I'll be back. It may be in an hour, it may be for lunch, or it may be tonight after dinner."
Peter nodded.
"If you need, I can call Claudia's parents at 8 and have them come watch him if it looks like I'll be gone the whole day?" John asked.
"Oh, no. Me and Stiles will be perfectly fine no matter how long it takes." Peter smiled at the man.
"You can use the guest bedroom, just leave the door open. Stiles knows that if my door is closed and the guest door is open then he has a babysitter watching him because I had a very important task to do for work." Peter nodded acknowledging that. "And there is cereal for breakfast, of if you're feeling up to it, pancakes and eggs. No bacon, he eats it all if can help it and then gets a tummy ache. Stuff for sandwiches for lunch, or I left enough money on the counter for both lunch and dinner if you want. Don't let him play in his room for more than 20 minutes at a time or he destroys it. He likes to ride his bike, and if you have him do that for forty-five minutes straight you can get him to quiet down for at least two hours on the couch for a movie and a break for you. And then-" John was cut off by Peter then.
"I think I got it John, though do you have any objections to Stiles coming over to my house to play for my nieces and nephews for a few hours?"
John shook his head no, "No I don't mind, but watch him, he tends to drive other kids up the wall to the point of wanting to strangle him. Scott is the only kid I know that can play with him for more than thirty minutes at a time."
He'd have to call Talia and give her a heads up, and to tell her to prep the kids for Stiles.
"Alright," Peter just smiled at him once again, "I got this all handled. You go."
Peter watched John get in his cruiser and drive off before heading on inside and up the stairs.
He found the guest room easily and slipping out of his shoes, he set his clothes down on the dresser and crawled onto the bed. He fell asleep more easily than he had since his crossroads with the smell of John and Stiles wafting around him.
Peter woke when he felt a hefty weight on his chest. Squinting his eyes open, he saw Stiles making himself comfortable, thumb in mouth, on his stomach, and Peter wrapped him up in his arms.
"Daddy had to go to work?" Stiles asked.
"Mmm," Peter's voice was scratchy, "Yes, your daddy had to go save a little girl from some bad people."
"Oh, well that's okay then," Stiles nodded.
"Sleep Stiles," And they did.
When Peter woke the second time, Stiles was still snoring. Though he had flopped off of Peter and was in now what looked like a very uncomfortable ball of limbs. Peter left him as he padded out of the room and down the stairs.
The clock on the oven said that it was a little after seven, and it was a good enough time as any to begin breakfast. When he reached the fridge he found a few drawings and worksheets put up on the fridge. There were two that amused him.
The first was a work sheet on sentences. It said: Write three sentences about your favorite thing. Stiles wrote. I like bacon. You like bacon. We love bacon. And didn't that explain a lot.
The second was a drawing worksheet cut in half by a line. The first half asked Stiles to draw himself now. Stiles drew a little boy with a black blob in his arms that had blue dots in the head region. If Peter had to make a guess it was Stiles and Dirk. The second half asked Stiles to draw himself in a hundred years. Stiles drew a headstone. RIP written clearly across the grey half-oval sticking out of the ground. And wasn't that a little morbid. This also explained a lot about Stiles in the future.
Peter opened the fridge and picked up the eggs, butter, jam, and blueberries, and walked it over to the counter. Now it was time to start on those pancakes. But first he should make that call to Talia.
He picked up the phone on the wall and dialed, hoping that she would answer and not let it go to voicemail. Talia picked up on the third ring, and greeted him none too kindly, "What!?" She was obviously delegated to kid duty as the only adult that wasn't otherwise preoccupied, or Paul who had basketball camp for the next three days. Talia was a brilliant leader, and an amazing mom, but she had very little patience for watching the horde of adolescents that stampeded through their house on a good day. It probably didn't help that Ken's sister Sheltie had asked them to watch their daughter Diki for a few days as she and her husband Jason went on a kid's free cruise. You wouldn't think that one more added to the group would make a lot of difference, but it did. Diki was when she was two, and she's four now. So she had control, but she could be two times as destructive then a normal born wolf, and four times as a human born into a pack of werewolves, which is three times as destructive as a regular child… except maybe Stiles. Peter had the feeling that Stiles could be as destructive as any born wolf on a good day, if how he acted as a teenager was any indication.
"Hello Talia, I was just calling to let you know that I was going to bring Stiles over." Peter said in way of greeting.
"As in you bring him here to stay and help me watch this mass of children, or as in you bring him, drop him off, and go about your day? Because if it's the second, I'll murder you." Peter could hear giggling in the background that had to be Annalese.
"It's the first," Peter affirmed.
"Well okay then. Get over here and make breakfast." Talia demanded.
"No, I was going to make a quiet breakfast here. His dad had to leave last night and didn't say goodbye. He even came into my room and slept with me. So I am going to make pancakes and talk to him about what he wants to do first. I was thinking about taking him for a run around the block a couple of times to help wear him out. I'm betting he could be as destructive as me at that age." Peter said.
Talia groaned. "Whatever." She pouted, she hated breakfast duty. "Is there anything else you needed?"
"Yeah, I need you to prep the children for him. He is diagnosed with ADHD, and John says that the only kid that doesn't go running and screaming from him after thirty minutes is a boy named Scott." Peter chuckled a little thinking of the Scott he bit.
"That young?" Talia asked. She was a psychologist, and knew what that meant.
"Younger, it's that severe of a case. From what I can see of the kitchen his dad buys no artificial anything, or that has any dyes in it. He had sugar free white grape juice in the fridge, but a chart hanging up on the wall stating that Stiles can only have one cup for lunch. I smell some fruit leather—strawberry, but no cookies, ice cream, or candies to be found." Peter informed her.
"Mother fucking moon," Talia inhaled sharply. "And you want to bring him here!? We have enough terrors running amok."
"I figured he'd fit right in," Peter shrugged, even though he knew she wouldn't see it. "And I hope he'll be mine one day. I really like John and Stiles, their perfect."
Talia huffed again, and snarled before shutting off the phone in defeat. Peter chuckled.
"Petah?" Peter turned sharply to the small voice. Stiles stood in the doorway, Dirk in his bent elbow. His other hand was down at his side and twitching ever so often like he had just too much energy to handle. Which he did. Stiles was a spark, so he did have way to much energy. Peter hoped that he could help Stiles learn to expend more of it and later control it. And until then, treating it like ADHD would suffice. And how the hell did Stiles sneak up on him. He's a werewolf for Christ's sake. "Petah, did you mean it?"
"Mean what sweetie?" Peter took a breath.
"That you want to be mine and daddy's?" Stiles tilted his head.
"I—that's something I need to discuss with your dad." Peter answered.
"I would like you to be my second daddy," Stiles smiled. "You're so nice, and you listen, and you know how to calm me down. And I could call you Papa. I'd really like that."
"Stiles honey, that's something between me and your dad. We'll see, alright." Peter then turned to the stove. He had been prepping the ingredients as he talked to the batter was all mixed and ready for pouring. "How does pancakes sound?"
"Pancakes sound awesome," Peter could hear the grin in the little boys tone.
"Great, now I didn't see any syrup in the fridge, do you know where it is?" Peter asked.
"I don't eat pancakes with syrup. I eat it with warmed up applesauce. It tastes really good." Stiles informed him.
"Oh really, I never thought to try that." Peter hummed. "Do you want blueberries in your pancakes?" Peter turned to him.
Stiles tilted his head and then nodded, "Yeah. I'll try that if you try the applesauce."
"Deal," Peter smiled. "Now how does your dad warm up the applesauce?"
"In a pan," Stiles informed him. He walked over to a cabinet that was two feet from the stove and pulled out a small sauce pan. "In this one," and handed it to Peter.
Peter took the pan and placed it on the stove. He'd get to that in a moment. He had pancakes to make.