I forgot to mention sooner than I am totally down for constructive criticism. My first response will probably be to explain myself, but good critique can only make my writing better.
12 Void
Stiles hadn't dreamed of Lydia last night, though he'd studied pictures of her on his old phone before falling asleep. There was too much risk of someone seeing them if he transferred the pictures to his new phone. Stiles rubbed at his eyes and wondered if he should try sleeping again. Somehow, he'd never bothered to study Lydia's sleep schedule.
"Because that would have been stalking," he reminded himself. He'd had her school schedule memorized though, and that was only slightly less creepy. Maybe a little more, knowing he'd memorized it every year since third grade, long before they became friends.
"Are you stalking, or am I stalking?" Peter asked, pushing open the door. He didn't step in. Stiles had lined the room with mountain ash, so Peter had to poke the doorknob to even manage what he had.
"What you're doing is invasion of privacy. I think I locked that," Stiles scolded.
"You did. Get dressed."
Stiles scrunched up his face.
"We're going for a run," Peter added.
"The hell we are. A morning jog sounds a thousand times too CrossFit for me."
Peter crossed his arms, though his face remained mostly neutral, maybe a little smug. "It's not CrossFit. It's very basic fitness. It's also bait. We can't find the raven's nest, but they've shown interest in finding you."
"More like murderous intent."
Peter rolled his eyes. "I'll be beside you, not stuck up a tree, and the pack will be nearby."
Stiles had to work to contort his face into greater disdain than before.
"Or you could live in my house forever, right where I can hear every beat of your heart and smell every drop of sweat on your body."
"God, how do I ever forget how creepy you are?"
Peter smirked. "I can be charming when I want. Right now, what I want is to hunt birds." The smirk twisted into a sneer at the end.
"You mean interrogate birds," Stiles corrected. "Because dead birds can't tell us how I got here."
Peter sighed in obvious disappointment, but he'd have no cause for disappointment if he disagreed. The smirk returned. "So you agree to go."
Stiles groaned but rolled out of bed. He dug through Other His dresser until he found a pair of sweats to throw on with a dark red t-shirt that fit like he thought he was Chris Evans as Captain America. Other Him did not buy the right size clothes.
Peter steered him out of the house and into the woods. They began jogging along a well-worn path. Maybe Peter jogged even when not baiting ravens with Stiles. More likely, Derek or Cora did. Peter didn't seem the type to work for what he could instead steal by waiting in the shadows. Not that Peter could steal fitness, but Stiles was pretty sure werewolf bodies stayed naturally fit, which didn't explain Derek's obsession with working out. Did this world's Derek exercise like the Derek he knew?
"Stay close," Peter ordered. "I want to be certain you're safe."
"Your concern truly touches me," Stiles said with every bit of sarcasm he could muster.
"I should hope so."
Stiles had no response to that. He tried to focus on his breathing. He'd never been good at running. Coach made the team participate in Cross Country during the lacrosse off season, and it was misery. Stiles usually puked.
He tried to eye the forest, but it all looked the same to him. Stiles would be the last one to see or hear anything. He switched his focus to Peter, watching for a response to the stimuli Stiles would miss. Peter's eyes scanned the forest. He breathed slowly, not even winded by the pace he set for Stiles. The breaths were deep too, filtering scents for any sign of danger.
Stiles had worked with Peter before. He had fought against Peter too. Peter was a dangerous, powerful force either way, but he'd lost every time he faced Scott's pack, at least he had on Stiles' world. This Peter had never been Scott's enemy. Stiles worried that had more to do with this world's Scott than its Peter.
"Why are you staring at me?" Peter asked, turning his sharp eyes on Stiles.
"I won't see them coming, but I can see you react when you do."
Peter smiled. It wasn't even a smirk. "The other you tackled the same problem with magic."
"Other Me could have saved some of that energy."
"He didn't see it so simply."
"You mean he wasn't willing to let the pack balance each others' weaknesses and instead went about gathering all the power he could for himself." Werewolves were limited more than any version of Peter would admit.
Peter's eyes narrowed, more considering than threatening. "You think your other pack has stronger bonds than this one."
"More balanced," Stiles clarified before Peter could throw a fit. "We have a lot of different strengths. You're all the same, except me."
Peter nodded. He turned away and picked up the pace. Stiles groaned, careful to keep up. They had slowed while talking. Stiles wasn't a distance runner, or a sprinter, or any kind of runner. Sometimes a run-for-his-life-er, but he'd rather never have to again.
Peter cocked his head. Stiles pressed as close to Peter as he could get without hugging him. Peter set a hand on his shoulder.
"They aren't here," Peter said. "But they're nearby. Derek spotted them."
"Do they know we're here?" Stiles asked. He considered brushing Peter's hand aside. He could feel the false calm seeping through Peter's hand, like he thought Stiles would freak out once the ravens neared. Stiles had faced scarier beasts than birds.
Peter said, "Hard to say. They may know we're around, but Derek's research indicates their senses aren't as keen as a wolf's."
"Do you doubt that?" Stiles asked, put off by Peter's wording. He felt something more than reassurance slip into him through Peter's hand, an itch under his skin, like there was more he should know about this.
"I doubt everything, Stiles."
With Peter's hand on his shoulder, Stiles could feel that doubt like the same sour distrust in his own gut. He brushed Peter's hand aside.
"You're trying to calm me down," Stiles accused.
"Shouldn't I be? Can you say you don't have trouble with anxiety?"
Stiles scrunched his face in. "Well, your own unease is coming through too, so, thanks."
Peter crossed his arms and frowned. He looked to the woods. "They're not coming this way. Malia stayed back to watch them while Derek move close enough to report. I want you to decide whether we draw them to you or have the others track them back to their nest."
"Why let me decide?"
"Both options work for me right now," Peter admitted without a hint of shame.
"Do wereravens make nests?"
"They're staying somewhere. It's not likely to be a literal nest."
"Too late. Now I'm picturing adults in a giant nest made of sticks."
Peter growled, though he kept it low. "I asked you to make a decision."
"As some sort of test, right?" Stiles shook his head and plowed on, not waiting for an answer. "I can play bait any time. We may not see them first again. Go for the nest."
Peter turned and jogged back to the house without another word. He set a faster pace than he had on their way out. Stiles struggled to keep up. By the time they reached the house, he was panting. Peter pushed Stiles through the door. His touch didn't ooze with excessive calm this time, though it was still familiar and reassuring in a way that Stiles knew would seem strange as soon as Peter broke contact.
"The house is protected," Peter said. "I still won't leave you alone."
"Meaning you can't join the others right now."
"Their goal is to find the nest, not attack it." Peter moved his hand from Stiles' shoulder long enough to snatch at his arm and spin him so they faced each other. "Your heart is beating too fast."
"We were just running," Stiles pointed out. He left it for Peter to fill in that Stiles wasn't very good at it.
Peter eyed him.
"What the hell is suspicious about that? We were running. My heartbeat accelerated due to physical exertion."
"You've been transported to an alternated universe and don't know how to get home. If you're not worried, then you must know something I don't."
Stiles bit his lip. "My friends on two worlds are all working to get me home. There's no point in complaining that I'm stuck here."
Peter led Stiles to the couch and sat beside him. He asked, "Were you able to reach Lydia last night?"
Stiles shook his head. "I'll try again tonight."
Peter stared at Stiles a moment before he asked, "What will you do if you can't get home?"
"I'll keep trying until it works."
"For how long?"
"I've been here like a week. I'm not ready for the stuck here forever talk. Last time I got trapped in another world, it was three months."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, I was taken by the Wild Hunt. I'm better now."
Peter nodded with the look Stiles would imagine him wearing if he'd told him he wrote an essay on the history of circumcision for Economics. He knew because he'd seen that exact look before.
Then Peter shook his head to clear the look away and said, "You'll never be ready, Stiles. I want a plan, not a surrender. We have a plan to get you home. We're working on it now. I don't like leaving any contingency unexamined."
"Wow, yeah, that sounds like you. Okay, I stay with the pack and slowly build up to being me instead of play-acting Other Me. Maybe someday even stop wearing stupid anime wrist bands." Though that would mean accepting that he had tattoos now.
"And within the pack, do you fill the space he left or carve your own?"
"You mean magic," Stiles realized. "I don't do magic. I can't take his place for you."
Peter nodded. He looked neither surprised nor pleased.
"You need someone to do magic," Stiles noted.
"You already pointed out how he balanced our power single-handedly."
"But you know I'm not him, not in the ways that matter to you."
"You don't know what matters to me," Peter snapped.
"You're not very open a person, Peter, but I'm guessing the safety of your pack matters. You have magical security to protect your home and your pack, and now you have no one to handle its upkeep."
"Which is why I need a plan. As a human, you can still work with mountain ash, but how do we use it without trapping the pack?"
Stiles sighed. "It's possible to build mountain ash into the house's baseboards so the circle can be closed or opened quickly."
Peter smiled, again with no sign of a smirk. "Progress." That smile unsettled Stiles. At least his world's Peter had the decency to always act exasperated with Stiles' existence.
"I am going to ask you the worst question," Stiles said. He waited until Peter raised his eyebrows. "Discounting how useful I'm not, do you like this me better than Other Me?"
Peter's eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched and unclenched. "I expected to hate you."
"So, then, you don't?"
"Hate you? Not at all."
"You haven't really answered me," Stiles noted.
Peter frowned at him so long Stiles thought he wouldn't respond. "You think through the same problems he overpowers. I don't doubt that he could. He just made sure he doesn't need to."
"Whereas I turned down power and chose to think of another way." Stiles realized he'd turned down Peter for the bite twice now, once on each world. He supposed that meant he'd committed to his powerlessness, so long as he didn't count the giant ugly healing tattoo on his back. "He's as smart as I am," Stiles pointed out. "Only stronger. I know power means a lot to you, Peter. You're... you."
"Are you trying to convince me to hate you instead?" Peter raised an eyebrow.
"No, I'm just trying to understand you."
"Me in general or something more specific?"
"My question was specific, Peter. You're the one being vague."
Peter dropped the eyebrow and narrowed his eyes. "You're worried he's worth more than you because he can do more, and you want me to reassure you that he's not."
"What? No."
"Good. Because I won't."
"Not even a little?"
"I suppose it's useful to see your insecurity. It reminds me how much I need him."
"So you need the reminder?" Stiles asked, knowing Peter expected him to focus on the jab instead.
Peter hesitated. "It doesn't hurt."
Peter stared at the ceiling. He clenched his jaw and sneered upward at nothing. Stiles wondered if he should go. It was still possible he'd guessed wrong, and Peter was stringing him along as some sort of game. Except that Peter looked so uncomfortable. Stiles didn't think he was faking that.
With a sigh that sounded like defeat, Peter lifted his head. "I'm going to touch your hand and use the bond to let you tell if I'm lying."
"It can do that?"
He snatched Stiles' hand. "No."
The lie slithered across the back of Stiles' tongue like he'd spoken it himself.
"Oh. Cool." Slimy, but cool. He'd never spoken to Peter while sure he was telling the truth before. "You told me it couldn't do anything else." Derek hadn't mentioned this either. No one had.
"I lied," Peter said as though it were obvious. Maybe it was. Stiles had known better than to trust Peter. It was his own fault if he believed anything Peter told him.
Peter continued, "You are part of my pack as long as you are here. He was part of my pack. If he returns, he will be again. Neither of you negates the other. If I could have both his power and your strategy in my pack, I would."
"I don't understand why this requires handholding," Stiles said. Peter had always been greedy for power. Of course he'd want every advantage.
"Tactically, he makes more sense, but given the choice, I'd keep you."
The weight of Peter's words sank into Stiles' gut. They were true. After only a week, half of which Stiles spent unconscious, Peter wanted him to stay.
"Oh," Stiles said. His mouth was dry. If Peter wanted him here, Peter wanted something from him, something he couldn't get from the other Stiles. At least Stiles had the satisfaction of knowing he was right, for what little that was worth.
"I'll still try to get you home," Peter promised. Stiles didn't spot much room in those words for Peter to wiggle past.
"Try your best?" Stiles pressed.
Peter's eye twitched. He'd probably never spoken so openly to anyone in his life, and Stiles had made it clear all he wanted was to leave. "My very best," Peter said, though his eyes were hard and cold as steel.
