The universe is so much older than most people know. Even with Earth's scientists and theorists, it is so much older than the Big Bang, than the gasses and bacteria, than the dinosaurs and the ice. Before all of that, there was nothing but a vastness of space. But something has to come from something, of course. Nothing begets nothing, as the adage goes, and in that vast space of nothing, there was something. Two somethings, in fact. Nameless beings from another universe, slipping through a tear in the fabric of time and space itself. They saw the nothingness of the universe and wanted more, wanted a world to call their own, so they came together to create something out of themselves; the blank universe was their canvas and their power was the paint.

Time passed, centuries, then millennia, and they decided that they would join the ones they had created. Humans were a crude race, and they offered them the ability to think for themselves, and as time passed, that thought and basic reason turned into free will. With free will came its own set of problems; people were suspicious of these two beings, the ones with no names, the ones who did not age, who possessed the power to create. They were not thought of as they were, but rather, they were thought of as the reason for all of the bad in the free willed world, and condemned for it. They were killed, for all that one like them could be killed, and it took several centuries before one lover could convince the other to return to the inhabited planet. They agreed to try to assimilate and understand the humans' beliefs and customs, to be born human, just like their creations. They could not completely contain their power, it was not possible for ones like them, but they both hid them - along with their memories - the best they could before descending.

Their lives did not last long, humans creating gods to explain their lives and surroundings, and they could not contain their power for more than a mere five years. Their blue-glowing bodies were mistaken for devils, and they were sacrificed to appease man-made gods.

Another few centuries passed, their powers returning and they worked on controlling them more. When the humans' nature had settled, one tried to convince the other to return, and they agreed to try again, to contain their power better this time. They lasted eleven years.

The usual three or four centuries passed, and one did not try to convince the other again. Three deaths in less than two millennia was exhausting and enough to bring one's nature and moral into question. Another century passed, and this time the other convinced the one. They both had more control this time, and were able to suppress their power longer. They held each other as they descended, one tracing a tattoo swirl for protection and understanding on the other. The other reciprocated the motion, and then their consciousnesses separated into two beings.

They were born an hour apart to two human families in the same small Polish town, and for some time, their plan worked and their power stayed hidden. They grew up together, both believing they were human, and it stayed that way until they were ten years old and they told each other in hushed whispers about their dreams, of space and planets, of women and men they'd never seen before, about a blue flare of power. They realised that their shared dreams were more than dreams, but neither told their parents. Both boys remembered their previous life's death, and as impressionable ten year olds, believed the same would happen if they spoke the truth now.

Time continued on, and they grew into men, pretending not to hear their families' words about girls and wives. They could not love another, not now that they knew what they were and who the other was to them. They fought some but laughed more; they ran hand-in-hand from one mother's bellowed shouts of retribution for stolen laundry shared, created a tent from the stolen sheets and watched the stars, whispers of dreams and power and other worlds between them as their world continued to turn and fly through the galaxy around them. peter and stiles were happy and they thought it would last.

Their power broke free on their eighteenth birthdays, a day when their parents were at a neighbouring village's market to give the two young men time to themselves. peter and stiles were still human enough to not be able to control it properly for an hour or so. The townspeople were superstitious folk, and a red flame encompassing two separate houses on the same day could only be a terrible omen. Both men were dragged from their houses, and they screamed and clung to each other, trying to protect the other from the death they were certain of; while they could not technically die, beings as they were, they could still feel pain, and the echo of the pain caused by their deaths could last for centuries.

peter had always had better control over his power, and when stiles was pushed to the ground, the deep abrasion bleeding profusely as he heaved in deep breaths, peter used his power to shift into an animal, to protect his beloved, a red-eyed wolf snarling at the townspeople. stiles still didn't have the best control over his power at that moment, and the shock and pain didn't help. He clung to peter tightly, face pressed and bleeding into his fur, murmuring words over and over, some in Polish, some in a language that only they knew, trying to bring his lover back from his animistic state. peter's snarls lessened slowly, and he shifted back with a howl of pain. The townspeople overcame their shock at the transformation, pitchforks sharp and torches ablaze, and the two men were driven out of town and into the thick forest.

They travelled as far from their home town as possible, peter not wanting to stay in a town for longer than a week, despite stiles's pleas. His trust of humans had been completely depleted, and he saw everyone as a threat.peter held stiles tightly at night in those first few weeks, as though he believed he would disappear if he did not keep him close. stiles found that caressing his lover's back helped calm him and get peter to loosen his grip so that they could both breathe. After a time, they both found that tracing a tattow between the other's shoulder blades while they hugged was the most soothing action of all. stiles rested his head on peter's shoulder and pleaded one more time to stay in a town; he could not run any more. Pressing a soft kiss to his scarred cheek, peter reluctantly agreed.

Their power released, they no longer aged, and suspicions were raised again after a few years in the town. peter had packed their belongings before the sun set that night, and stiles followed without protest. They continued this way for a few years, until they arrived in a town where a small group of people from their home town had stopped in. peter refused to go into the inn with them there, but stiles was curious about their little town, and used a small flame of blue power to modify his complexion so he would not be recognised. The men were all too happy to talk to a man buying their drinks, and stiles discovered that soon after they had been driven out of town, the forest had burned, the river had reduced to a trickle, and a sickness had claimed most of the townspeople, excluding a lucky few, including his and peter's parents. stiles convinced peter to return so he could ensure that the travellers' words were correct; he had grown attached to his parents and knew that peter had as well.

Three months later, they were back in their home town and their parents, while older and greyer than either man remembered, were still alive and well. They were glad for news of their sons, and told them stories of the town's downfall since they were driven out. Most of the people that had survived the winter sickness had helped or been sympathetic to peter and stiles's parents. peter muttered that they did not help when they were driven from town with torches and pitchforks at their backs, but stiles calmed him by tracing the tattoo on his forearm, then again on his back. peter went to bed early, and after an hour or two speaking with their parents, stiles snuck into peter's room with a grin and a bed sheet tucked under his arm. They spent the night under the stars, just as they had when they were younger, and stiles displayed his control over his power by creating stories out of the stars overhead. perter fell asleep in his arms, calmer and looking far more relaxed than he had in years.

They woke to fire. The men stiles had talked with in the coastal town's inn had been suspicious of his specific questions about their families, and followed them at a distance. They realised stiles and peter were the two men they had driven out of town all of those years ago. The group were as superstitious as ever, especially considering the downfall of the town, and decided that the lovers needed to be sacrificed to appease angered gods for the first failure.

peter woke first, writhing and screaming when he realised that the group had ensnared them in the sheet with thick ropes and iron pegs in the ground. His thrashing woke stiles, who struggled to get free. Iron impeded their power, a lucky guess by the gathered group, and peter immediately knew that they would not both survive this. He looked to stiles, a tear falling down the faint scar on his cheek, and in their own language - the language no human would ever know or hope to understand - peter told him his plan. stiles shook his head adamantly, even as the flames licked at his feet and singed his hair. peter refused to accept his lover's denial and took in a deep breath, smelling the earth beneath them, the salt gathered on stiles's skin, and the fire around them. Then, with a determined exhale, peter's hand sought stiles's and he fed him his power, the blue flame wrapping around his lover's body until it encompassed him completely, leaving peter human and defenceless. stiles made a promise, promised to find him again, and traced the tattoo the best as he could with his arms bound the way they were, securing the promise between them. He cried hot tears that evaporated in the flames as peter sacrificed himself and died beside him. Then, when peter's presence left his body entirely, stiles blinked away his final tear and used their combined power to allow his consciousness to leave his human body. He would find another soon enough, and then he would follow through on his promise to find his peter. He would return his power to him, and when they were finally together again, they would take back the world that belonged to them.

Stiles never meant for them to know. Deaton shouldn't have noticed an inkling of his magic, but Stiles supposed it was lucky that he only recognised that small spark, rather than the full extent of his power. He'd managed to keep his power hidden ever since he appeared on his soon-to-be-parents doorstep, modifying their memories to make them believe that he was their son, and Stiles was quite proud of the fact that no one realised that he wasn't exactly human. Then Scott was bitten by a hot insane alpha werewolf, and Stiles' control slipped enough for Deaton to recognise a single spark within his fiery brilliance of power, and once that had been seen, he couldn't make it disappear; Deaton would get suspicious at the sudden absence and Stiles' ability to repress his spark of power that quickly. But once that single flame slipped through the cracks, the others soon followed, and Stiles spent more and more of his energy trying to repress his powers so as to not make himself suspicious. Using up all of that energy made him susceptible to possession, and the fucking nogitsune took over his mind. Stiles had exhausted himself and couldn't get his own mind and body back under his own control for two whole months. He hated the feeling of being pushed to the back of his own mind, hated that he'd let himself become so weak, and when the nogitsune was expelled from his mind, Stiles refused to repress his power anymore. Deaton watched him carefully in that first month (so did Scott, but for another reason all together), and when he caught Deaton staring, Stiles let his spark of power crackle with all of its usual force, and held back his laughter when Deaton flinched each and every time.

A few months later, Scott's watchful gaze lessened and Deaton's was redirected with the sudden appearance of Satomi's pack. On the other hand, peter, with his werewolf senses returned after hes back from the dead, seemed to be more attuned to his wolf than ever before. Braeden decided she couldn't stay in a relationship with a werewolf - even a friends-with-benefits one - and with no one else to distract peter, he started to watch Stiles instead. His gaze wasn't like the others; Scott had been wary, concerned, and watching out for his best friend; Deaton had been concerned and trying to figure out what Stiles was now that he wasn't a nogitsune and was no longer human. peter, however, watched Stiles as though he was a puzzle that he wanted to put together, as though his presence and behaviour surprised him and intrigued him all at once. He watched Stiles like he was slowly starting to fall in love with him, and Stiles couldn't bring himself to look back at him. peter had no idea what Stiles was, what he had done, what he was capable of, and if he did know, Stiles knew that peter would never fall in love with such an abomination. He focused his attentions on peters daughter Malia, who was still too animalistic to realise that some of the things he did weren't exactly normal for humans, and Stiles pretended not to feel peter's gaze on his back when they walked away.

Malia found her mother that summer and decided that she needed to spend time with the Desert Wolf, to get to know her real birth mother, and decided to leave Beacon Hills. Stiles was annoyed that she would throw away their relationship when it was so convenient for him to hide behind. He said goodbye to Malia and left without looking back at her.

Lydia seemed pleased at Malia's departure, smiling at Stiles softly, and though he would have loved to be in a relationship with her a few years ago, Stiles now knew that he couldn't. He might have been able to before, before his spark was released, before the nogitsune, and the overwhelming power resting under his skin. But now with Stiles' power flowing at full strength, he knew that he would consume and destroy Lydia if they were in a relationship; he would hollow her personality, blunt her sharp mind, dull her razor wit, and Stiles couldn't bring himself to do that to the young woman he now considered a friend. So, he returned Lydia's smile, shook his head slightly when she went to move forward, and turned his back on her. She might hate him for it now, but after she knew what he was, what he could do, Stiles knew that she would be thankful.

With Malia gone, Stiles no longer had a relationship to avoid the rest of the pack, and within weeks of him returning and peter's stares began again. Slowly, Stiles stretched his power out, trying to scare peter off since the usual ways seemed to be failing. All Stiles managed to do was startle Scott, who always complained about a smell of dirt, salt, and fire. Kira wrinkled her nose whenever it happened, but didn't complain as Scott did; Liam's heartbeat turned to a rapid hummingbird's pace, his werewolf instinctively recognising the danger, and he rarely stayed at the pack night or meeting for very long after Stiles had let the tendrils of power out. peter just watched Stiles intently, and his eyes might glow blue in response, but he never said anything about it or gave any other response. In fact, if Stiles didn't know better, he might even say that peter liked the display of his power and resulting scent. The thought of peter liking it made him shiver pleasantly in a way that hadn't happened in a very, very long time, and Stiles often had to leave as well before his power's scent was replaced with one of arousal.

After all of the power he'd unleashed in peter's presence without the werewolf even faltering, Stiles realised that peter might actually be able to handle him and his power. It was definitely a surprise, but it was one that he didn't want to entertain for very long. Stiles didn't want to get his hopes up yet again, only for them to be dashed and smashed upon the ground. He refused to do that to himself, and Stiles knew that he wouldn't be able to handle it if he was wrong for a third time.

Stiles usually turned up at Derek's loft for the pack meeting a few minutes after it started, just so he wouldn't be alone with peter. Today, however, Stiles walked in to the loft to find it empty, bar for peter. He stopped short in the doorway, letting out a tendril of power, trying to find out if there was anyone else in the loft. They were alone, and from the expression on peter's face, it looked like he had planned on this.

"There it is again. It is you, isn't it?" peter asked quietly, stepping forward.

"Don't know what you're talking about, creeperwolf," Stiles said, pulling the tendrils of power back in as quickly as he possibly could.

"Yes, you do. What are you?" peter breathed, eyes wide as he looked Stiles over.

"A hyperactive spaz; you said it yourself," Stiles added when peter winced.

"No, you're more than that. I can... I know you are, Stiles. I can almost remember it, you, when I smell that scent you give off. It's more than dirt and salt and fire. There's a million other scents under those three, and I know every single one. I could name them if you gave me enough time," peter breathed, pupils blown as he stared at Stiles.

No. This couldn't be true. It couldn't be happening now. He was lying, he had to be. He'd heard this before, and they'd been wrong. He couldn't do this now. He couldn't risk it... It couldn't be peter .

"Please, Stiles. I need..." peter trailed off, licking his lips.

"What? What do you need?" Stiles asked with a snap, still too afraid to believe this was actually happening.

"I need you; need your power," peter replied, dropping to his knees before him.

Fuck.

"Are you sure, peter? I can't... I can't lose you," Stiles admitted, his voice breaking as he cupped peter's cheek.

He turned his head, nose pressing against Stiles' palm as he breathed in his scent deeply. "You won't lose me. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," Stiles murmured, placing his free hand on top of peter's hair gently, closing his eyes.

Stiles let his power out slowly, the scents of death, life, and emotion filling the air. He wrapped his power around peter, an invisible ribbon of power, then he enveloped them both with it, and with a deep breath, Stiles broke the seal and let it flow out of him completely. Under his hand, peter screamed.

Stiles had no idea how much time had passed and didn't care anyway. All that mattered when he opened his eyes is that peter was looking straight back at him. peter was still alive, and even though he looked like he had just seen the answer to life, the universe, and everything (he kind of had, actually), peter hadn't been lost like the others. Stiles dropped to his knees in front of peter and wrapped his arms around him tightly. peter let out a small sigh, a combination of relieved and content, and hugged him tightly in return.

"You found me."

"Told you I would," Stiles murmured against his neck, trying to hold back his tears.

peter had survived, he was alive, and power now coursed through both of them, just as it always should have. He sagged against peter's chest, fingers clinging to his shoulders, pressing kisses to his clavicle.

"I know, love. I know," peter murmured softly, hand circling Stiles' back in the form of a tattoo.

Stiles made a noise of happiness, returning the familiar motion along peter's tattoo. "I hoped, when I saw it on your back. I hoped so fucking much, peter, but I couldn't... I couldn't lose you again."

"I know. I didn't think it would take so long. How long has it been, anyway?"

"Eight-hundred and sixty-five years, three hundred days, and ninety minutes. Well, that I remember, at least. I'm sure I lost a few hundred years here and there the last two times I tried. I swore they were you, and I think they might have been, but they weren't strong enough for me, for this," Stiles murmured, stroking peter's cheek as he looked at him again.

peter smiled, turning his head into Stiles' palm again. "I'll show you how strong I am, starting tomorrow. Tonight, I want to find out if your body still responds to me the way it used to," he murmured, flicking his tongue out against his skin.

Stiles shivered, catching his bottom lip in his teeth as he grinned. "And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, we remind the world who we are, why we were separated, and why our power was confined," peter growled.

Stiles laughed brightly and led peter to bed. Tomorrow could wait.

Stiles' arms are glowing blue, and he lets out a small chuckle as another blue flame joins it, continuing to wrap around and up his arms, covering his torso completely in a matter of seconds. The flame continues winding its way around and around his body until he's encased in blue completely, and he grins over at peter.

"Come on, now you give it a try."

"I know how to do this, Stiles. I don't need a lesson in control," peter growled.

"You say that, but you haven't had access to your power in over eight hundred years, Der. You need to practice."

"What I need is revenge," peter snapped, making his way over to Stiles, grabbing his wrists firmly.

"You'll get it," Stiles promised, breath hitching in his throat as peter started to nip his way down his neck. "But you need to practice first, or you'll kill us both, and we'll be stuck for another two hundred years. That's a long time to spend wallowing, peter."

peter didn't reply, releasing his wrists before pressing his face against Stiles' neck firmly. He flicked his tongue out, making Stiles shiver, and Stiles could feel him smiling against his skin.

"Have you grown soft over the years, stiles?" peter murmured, claws growing despite the calm tone to his voice.

Stiles just scoffed in response. "Of course not. I remember what they did to us, what they did to you," he replied, stroking peter's stubbled cheek softly. "I'll not let them escape retribution. And I'll not be distracted; now, practice," he added firmly, slipping out of peter's embrace to stand in the middle of the room. "A single flame and shield, c'mon."

Derek clenched his jaw slightly, but realised that Stiles wasn't going to give in, despite the fact he'd always had better control of the both of them. Sighing, he loosened his stance and let a single flicker of power appear on his palm. Wrapping the flame around him took more time and concentration than peter remembered; Stiles' had been so much smoother, and he was fairly certain that there were gaps in his own circular shield.

Stiles walked around his shield, frowning and tutting here or there. peter scowled at him, eyes glowing blue, and there was a burst in his power that had Stiles jumping back to avoid the sudden flare.

"Looks like you'll need to work on your control more, peter. It's tied in with your werewolf power, and I don't think there's a way to get it untangled until you've got control again," Stiles admitted, voice soft.

He weaved his fingers through an opening, fingertips touching the material over Derek's heart. peter sighed, and the circle of flames disappeared suddenly, peter capturing Stiles' hand in his own.

"I'll practice tomorrow, all right? We both will; you've had both of our powers for so long that you might overexert yourself trying to do the simplest of tasks."

Stiles grinned, fingers curling over peter's. "All right, we can do that tomorrow. C'mon, I've got a surprise for you," he said, tugging peter out of the loft.

Stiles drove them up to the outlook, and they were both silent for a moment as they looked out over the small town of Beacon Hills. Stiles reached back, grabbed a bag, and then clambered out of the Jeep, telling peter to follow him. He did so immediately and without protest, and caught up to Stiles easily. It didn't take them long to arrive at their destination, Stiles having already prepared earlier that day. He had found a small clearing in the forest, and used a bedsheet to create a makeshift tent. Grinning, Stiles tugged peter under the sheet, kissing him firmly.

"Where do you want to start?" Stiles asked, slipping onto peter's lap and giving a small wriggle to settle himself in properly.

"Here," peter murmured, pressing his lips to Stiles' gently. "Then here," he added with a kiss on his neck, "And I'll work my way down until you're screaming my name so loud the whole town'll hear," he promised, smirking.

"Hmm, that sounds nice, Der. But I was talking about revenge. Where do you want to start?"

"The same place it ended," peter replied firmly.

"Ah, slight problem there. There was an earthquake there in the 1800s and the resulting flood means the whole town's been underwater since then. I kind of got annoyed when the last you ... didn't survive," Stiles admitted, hand curling in peter's v-neak shirt. "I was with you for five years before you asked," he murmured softly, his free hand caressing his cheek.

"What was I like? Did I look very different?" peter asked, turning his face to kiss his hand.

"You were a woman last time. Red hair, green eyes, you can kind of see why I was so smitten with Lydia," Stiles added with a soft chuckle. "You were a beautiful Irish woman, and you were so passionate about... well, everything. You loved your family, your homeland, your people. I've never seen that much passion in one person before. And the way you loved me was just as inspiring."

"Inspiring? What exactly did I do?" peter asked, nipping at Stiles' fingertips.

Stiles shook his head, burying his face in the crook of peter's neck. "Loved me as much as I loved you, and after what happened in the 1300s, I thought that wold be impossible."

"What happened in the 1300s?" peter asked, rubbing circles on Stiles' back gently.

Stiles was quiet for a moment, trying to relax against peter's palm, trying not to relive the memories that still seemed so fresh in his mind.

"You were killed by a hunter halfway through," he sobbed, curling up even more, his knees drawn up to his chest. "He'd been following us for days, and I thought we'd lost him, and then you asked for your power, you wanted to protect both of us, so I gave it to you, and that bastard burst the door open and killed you. Took me a while to come back down again after that. I couldn't... I couldn't contain the anger, the loss. I wept for years, and all I could see was your face, halfway through the power and screaming and that fucking pitchfork in your chest. I was so worried about you last time that I tried to refuse."

"You know you have to release my power when I ask for it, Stiles. We agreed on that; you could have hurt yourself by refusing," peter murmured.

"I'd already hurt myself by accepting! You don't know what it's like to watch you die over and over, always at the hands of these ungrateful little bastards! We should have kept the dinosaurs instead. They were mindless beasts, but they didn't kill us, they understood what our presence meant," Stiles said, somewhere between a snarl and a sob.

"I know, love, I know. Don't worry, when we both have our control, these humans will know what our presence means again. And this time, we won't give them a chance to kill us," peter said fiercely, kissing Stiles with his lips and teeth until they bled.

They train together in every spare moment they have. Since they have their memories back, they no longer need to pretend to be something they're not; Stiles doesn't have to go to school, they don't try to hide their power, and they no longer need to feign the need to sleep. It doesn't mean that they can't exhaust themselves though, and peter ignores Stiles' protests of needing to practice more as he carries him over to their bed. They haven't seen anyone else for almost two weeks now, the memories of peter and Stiles already fading in their minds, even Scott and the Sheriff. It's better this way; this way, they won't get stopped, won't be fought by those who thought them to be friends, they won't regret doing what they have to do.

"You asshole, I could be training now. I need to work on my defensive attacks more," Stiles muttered, even as he tugs peter's arm around his body.

"You need to recharge your body, Stiles. We're human on the outside, and I don't want you to faint from exhaustion. Now, shut up and go to sleep."

"Such a sourwolf," Stiles muttered under his breath, but closes his eyes and soon falls asleep anyway.

peter sighed, pressing a kiss to the back of Stiles' neck before he tightened his hold and fell asleep as well.

They wake up to find one very pissed-off redhead standing over their bed. Scott, Liam, Kira, and Mason are standing further back, looking a little confused but their confusion melts away to anger soon after both Stiles and peter are awake.

"You two bastards! Why the hell did you try to remove our memories of you?" Lydia demanded, glaring at them.

"Shuddup, Lyds," Stiles mumbled, waving a hand at her.

"It's better this way for everyone. Get out and forget us," peter snarled.

"Yeah, good luck with that, you jerks. I'm immune, remember? I can't forget you, no matter what you do! Scott remembers you, though it's vague, I admit. And the Sheriff, how could you do this to him? He's your father, Stiles. Do you really think he'd be better off forgetting you instead of just owning up to the fact that you're gay?"

That startled a laugh out of Stiles, and it's old and ancient and hollow. peter just wanted to wrap his arms around Stiles when he heard that sound, but then Stiles is sitting up and glaring at the gathered group, his entire being wrapped in blue.

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then tell us! We've come this far together, why stop now?" Lydia asked, though her eyes were wide at the sight of Stiles' body, then peter's as he joined him, his own power wrapped around his body to protect his lover.

"Because we'll kill you. We'll destroy everything you love, we'll kill you, and we won't regret it," Stiles snarled, not a hint of lie in his beating chest.

Under the blanket, peter took his hand and squeezed. Stiles clenched his hand tighter, and the fierce scent of magic and life and emotion filled the room. It's almost as overwhelming as the fear coming from the others.

"Then tell us why," Lydia said, pleading for answers despite the fear exuding from her.

peter looked between Lydia and the others, then to Stiles. He sighed softly. "Give us half an hour and then we'll explain; get the Sheriff here," he added when Lydia relented and headed back out to the main area of the loft with the others.

Stiles looked at him when the others were gone. "You mean it, peter?"

"We've always been sentimental towards parental figures, stiles. You hated having to do this to your father, even if he's not really your father."

"I know; I shouldn't feel this sentimental to them, but... Something we created has to be good, right?"

"Right," peter murmured, then moved back and pulled Stiles onto his lap. "We've got thirty minutes, try to get some more sleep, Zbee," he said, stroking his hair gently.

Stiles kissed his lips, shoulder, then his chest right over his firmly beating heart, and with a soft sigh, settled his head on peter's torso to sleep again.

Thirty minutes passed all too quickly, and they were woken by Lydia's firm knock at the door.

"I don't care if you're both naked, I'm coming in," she called, opening the door.

peter raised an eyebrow at her. "Remind me why we made banshees, Zbee?" he muttered, shaking his head.

"Wanted something to remind us of home," Stiles mumbled against his chest. "Is he here?" he asked softly, ignoring Lydia's curious look as he draped himself over the edge of the bed to find a shirt off the floor.

"Yes. You need more time?" peter asked, resting a calming hand on Stiles' shoulder.

"Nah, better to get this over and done with," he replied, standing and slipping the shirt on. "You done staring, Lyds?" Stiles added, smirking when he saw her wide gaze focused on his cock.

"You... I didn't know you were hiding all of that under your clothes," she said, a light blush on her cheeks.

"There's a lot you don't know about my stiles. Now, get out," peter snarled.

Stiles snorted and pressed a kiss to peter's mouth as the door closed quickly behind Lydia's exit. "Green's a good look on you, Dor."

peter rolled his eyes, but his ears were pink, and he pressed a firm kiss to Stiles' mouth before he got out of bed to get dressed as well.

"I still don't understand why you called me out here, Lydia. If this is some elaborate prank, then just know that ... " the Sheriff trailed off when he saw Stiles and peter come out of the bedroom, his expression turning into a frown. "Who are you? Lydia, if I don't get an explanation in the next minute, then - "

peter sighed and flicked a small blue ball of flames at the Sheriff, letting his memories return. The others all looked confused, while the Sheriff stood there with a blue light burrowing into his chest.

"Stiles? What... Who... Where have you been for the last two weeks?! I've been worried sick!"

"Hey, Dad. I've been here with peter. Uh, why don't we all sit down?" Stiles offered, rubbing the back of his head before indicating to the large dining table in the middle of the loft.

"I want answers, son. From both of you," the Sheriff said with his most intimidating glare.

"Mine first," Lydia said firmly. "What are you?" she asked, looking between peter and Stiles.

"What do you mean 'what are you?'; Stiles is human, peter's a werewolf," Liam said, sounding nervous.

"Actually, according to Deaton, Stiles is a spark, and peter's a werewolf, but you saw what he just did to the Sheriff; that's nothing any werewolf I know can do, and I want to know what you are," Lydia said, keeping her gaze on the two of them.

"We're gods," Stiles said simply, shrugging. "We escaped from our universe, came here before anything existed, and created this universe."

There was a moment of stunned silence, the others all staring at Stiles as if they thought he needed another trip back to Eichen House. peter let out a snarl, and Lydia coughed slightly.

"I'm sorry, but Stiles, really? A god? That's... a bit much for someone with such awful taste in clothes."

"Fuck off; I didn't make fashion, that was all you guys. Fucking free will," Stiles muttered under his breath.

"How do we know you're telling the truth?"

"What would it take to convince you?" peter asked plainly, looking at them all.

"An act of God, perhaps?" Scott scoffed.

"Like what? A tsunami, an army of locusts, snow in the middle of summer? Be a little more specific here, Scotty," Stiles sneered at him.

"How about bringing Allison back?"

"Dude, that's not possible; she's already gone back into the universe. Getting all of those molecules and atoms back - much less in the right order - is fucking impossible unless you're willing to wait around for a few hundred years! You remember Fullmetal Alchemist, right? Can't get something for nothing, and the something that she'd come back as would be completely fucked up."

"Then why didn't you stop her from getting killed?" Scott yelled, Kira flinching beside him.

"I'd just been mind-fucked by a nogitsune, you think I was in any frame of mind to stop someone from getting killed? Besides, it's not the way I work. Humans are ridiculous creatures, and she would have been killed a day later by something ordinary. At least this way she died heroically for you."

"That's not the point!"

Water started splattering on the table, stopping Scott's tirade as they all looked up to the source. peter smirked at their expressions when they saw the cloud he'd created above the dining table.

"Is that... is that possible? Lydia?" Mason asked, looking to her.

"No, it shouldn't be. There's no way the atmospheric condition inside this loft could create enough condensation to make a cloud. That's not... It's not possible," Lydia said, face pale as she looked over at peter and Stiles. "It's not a spell?"

"Nope," Stiles said, grinning as the cloud turned on and off like a light switch, rain falling and stopping at peter's whim.

"All right. So you're gods. I... I think I can handle that. I just... need to think of a few more questions," Lydia said, swallowing and looking on the verge of a panic attack.

Mason rushed off to the kitchen to get water for everyone, Liam's jaw hanging open as he watched the cloud dissipate right before his eyes. Kira's heart was pounding erratically, and the Sheriff was still staring at Stiles and peter's hands clasped on the table.

"You said you'd kill us and you wouldn't regret it. You mean that?" Scott asked suddenly, face stormy as he glared at Stiles.

"Yes. I've been waiting over 800 years to get revenge, and you think it's cruel that Allison was taken from you? Imagine that happening over and over by the same people you'd created, the people you gave life to, the ones you entrusted with free will, and all they're doing is destroying what you've made, what you love. Every single time, we've been hunted and killed, and I'm not letting it happen again. You think these past ten years of friendship are enough to make me give up on my love of over 15 billion years? You have no idea what it's like to love someone like that, Scott."

"15 billion years?" the Sheriff echoed weakly.

"Yeah, Pops. I might look like a scrawny 18 year old to you, but that's so far from the truth it's not funny. Well, maybe a little funny. I get carded at bars," Stiles snickered, peter rolling his eyes beside him.

"I'm going to need something stronger than water," the Sheriff muttered as Mason returned with a pitcher of water and glasses tucked under his arm.

"What's the meaning of life?" Lydia asked suddenly.

"42," Stiles answered promptly, grinning at her over his glass of water.

"Don't be a dick, Stiles, and answer the question."

"It's as good an answer as any; we didn't create the universe with the intent to have all of you go on a quest for answers or something. We just... we wanted to create something together, to have a world to call our own," peter said, shrugging. "We wanted something that was ours."

"Though, seriously, the fjords are my masterpiece."

"Please, that was natural corrosion," peter muttered. "You managed to put that red lake in the middle of nowhere when I let you do something with water."

"Hey, I'm not the one that fucked up Atlantis and then sunk the fucking thing," Stiles retorted.

"Wait, Atlantis was real?" Kira asked, grinning.

"Uh, yeah. Where do you think the legends came from? There's truth in legend, or whatever the saying is."

"Can you time travel?" Mason asked.

"Seriously, guys, anything stronger than water?" the Sheriff interrupted before they could answer; time travelling was definitely beyond the limits of his comfort zone. Admittedly, gods wasn't much better.

"Nope, you don't need it. Drink your water," Stiles said firmly.

"We can time travel, but it's really too much effort. We'd have to revert back to our original forms, and it would take about 200 Earth years before we can descend again, and the future's always more interesting than the past anyway."

"Better plumbing facilities," Stiles added, giving a mock salute with his glass. "The BC years almost killed me, all that shit on the road."

"Wait, B.C.? So Jesus Christ was real?"

"Yeah, he was a real guy. But I can assure you that neither of us knocked his mother up," Stiles said with a snort. "We'd been together for a few billion years by then; do you really think we'd cheat with a human?"

"Hey! Human here," Mason said indignantly.

"You'll survive the slight, I'm sure," peter said, rolling his eyes.

There was a lapse of silence and Stiles played with his glass of water, making it fill and empty with a touch of his finger.

"Are you really going to kill everyone?" The question was soft and came from Liam, who'd been sitting there staring at them and everything else with wide eyes.

"Yes."

"Before or after I win my Fields Medal?" Lydia asked.

Stiles snorted a laugh, peter chuckling beside him, and the others all laughed, tension breaking for the moment. They were still in shock at the blunt answer that had been provided without thought, without a thought for their family and friends, and for now, it seemed like the funniest thing in the world.

"Now that the impending destruction of humanity has been dealt with, what are your intentions with my son?" the Sheriff asked, looking at peter.

peter looked at Stiles incredulously, eyebrow raised at him. Stiles grinned back at him and tilted his head slightly as if to say 'go ahead and answer the man'. The things he did for love.

Stiles opened the loft door a second before Lydia knocked, and she stood there with her arm lifted and ready to knock for a few moments before she quickly lowered her arm, her cheeks flushing red.

"What do you want, Lydia?" Stiles asked over his shoulder, already heading back to the kitchen.

Lydia decided that was as much of an invitation to enter as anything, and hurried after him. "You said that you and peter created banshees; that you wanted something to remind you of home."

"Yep, what about it?" Stiles asked, stirring something in a pot, his back to her and not paying her an ounce of attention.

Lydia tried not to feel slighted at that, at Stiles' obvious dismissal of her and her ability to be a threat if he showed his back so easily. "What... what was your home like? Why do banshees remind you of it? What can banshees really do?" she asked, the last question almost a whisper.

At Scott's insistence, Lydia had spent the last three days researching everything about the supposed gods that peter and Stiles were meant to be. What she had found hadn't inspired much hope in Scott's plan to change their minds about destroy Earth. Stiles and peter had been torn apart from each other - literally, physically, emotionally, in every way possible - and over the years, they'd found one another over and over again, wandering the earth until they were together and whole again. They were the essence of yin and yang, light and dark, night and day, and without the other, then peter and Stiles would be mere shells of their own existence. It wasn't so much a love story as a desperate, agonising and lonely search for the other. Just thinking about the things that had happened to peter in Ireland still made her feel nauseous, and that was nothing compared to what had happened to Johan in the Netherlands.

"You sure you want to know?" Stiles asked, glancing over at her briefly.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"In that case, I'd better put another place out for dinner," peter murmured behind her, slipping past to grab another set of cutlery.

"How's everyone going? Starting to forget us again, or are they now filled with a righteous naivety and a desperate need to save everyone?" Stiles asked, rolling his eyes as he tipped the pot into the sink's colander.

"The latter's holding strong," Lydia admitted.

"What are your thoughts on our plan?" peter asked, arms folded as he watched her from the kitchen's entrance.

Lydia felt as though she was being tested and breathed deeply to steady her sudden bout of nerves. "Not the way I'd go about getting revenge, but justified considering everything that's happened to you both over the years."

Stiles scoffed and shook his head. "You found those meagre folktales about us, I presume? Don't believe everything you read; the truth is far worse than that watered down crap. And it's not just what's happened to us, it's what's happened to our creation."

Lydia must have looked confused at Stiles' words, because peter went on to explain further. "Our universe, our galaxy, our planets. We only inhabited one, as a test run per se, and the complete and utter destruction that our planet is going through at the hands of humanity is unforgivable. There used to be so many trees, forests that were designed to help you lot breathe, so what do you do? Cut them down, burn them, destroy the very things that were put there to help you live. You're a bunch of mindless apes, careless and destructive, and we're tired of it."

"Killing us every thousand years or so certainly isn't helping things, either," Stiles snickered. "You read about our hometown in Poland, the disease and bad luck that befell them after we were driven out?"

"Yes. Then there was an earthquake there in the early 1800s, around the time peter was killed in Ireland, the tectonic plates shifted, and the entire town's been underwater since," Lydia said with a brief nod.

"They're lucky I decided to leave any of Poland behind," Stiles muttered, stirring the meat and sauce through the pasta. "Yeah, well, that 'bad luck' was because they drove us out. We help places prosper - good weather, healthy crops, all that sort of shit - and when we're attacked, killed, or driven out of town - every single time, it all goes to shit. The Sahara Desert was more than sand when we were there, that's for sure."

"The Arctic was nicer when there were a few more trees," peter added with a grin. "You lot are killing yourselves even faster when you kill us. Bunch of idiots that never learn their lesson."

Lydia accepted a bowl from Stiles, taking it to the dining table, sitting at the third setting quietly. "Is it something you do when you're killed, or an automatic response by the earth?"

"The earthquake was me, but the rest of it is kind of like a reset button. Fuck with us, your land gets fucked over. Should only take another thousand years for the whole world to be barren anyway, the way you lot are going," Stiles muttered, waving his fork at her.

"All right; what can we do to fix it then?"

"Too late with the way the atmosphere's already fucked. Just spend the rest of the time planting trees and don't be dicks to gods."

Lydia raised her eyebrow at Stiles' response, then shook her head. "I shouldn't have expected anything else."

"Hey, you lot wouldn't be in this mess if you'd just left us alone. We just wanted to be together, to be loved, so don't you come in here and say it's all our fault, because it's fucking not!"

Lydia's bowl smashed to pieces before her eyes, pasta, sauce and meat spraying out across the table.

"Okay, that was my fault. Give me a sec," Stiles muttered, and a blue light covered the mess on the table.

Lydia's eyes widened as she saw the bowl repair itself, the food hanging in the air for a second before falling back into the bowl, not a single crack to show it had been damaged.

"You've got questions about being a banshee?" peter asked calmly, looking at her across the table.

"Yes, I do. I just want to know what I am, why I am the way I am. Please," she added.

"In our old universe, banshees aren't quite as physical as you are, more corporeal. Long winding things, and everyone has one. Banshees not only predict death, but they can cause it too, and people use them to fight against one each other when they've had a slight against them. They're similar to pets, but more conscious and aware than the pets you would find here. Some banshees were mentally advanced enough to provide guidance to their owners and were allowed to express their own opinions before agreeing to a fight."

"There actually wasn't much fighting, people were too busy doing their own shit to fight. The universe we came from was so more scientifically advanced than this one, and most of the fights happened between the scientists," Stiles said, laughing. "There was one science conference that actually set up a fighting arena once the debates were over."

"That fight was how we met," peter said, smiling at him fondly.

"Oh, here we go again. The minute you remember, you always find some way to tell this story," Stiles groaned, hiding his face in his hands, but Lydia could see that he was grinning.

"You never tell it right," peter replied pointedly, continuing when Stiles waved him on. "The conference had a fighting arena set up, three football fields wide, scientists on either end, and this one decided to run out in the middle of the fight, completely naked but for his banshee wrapped around his waist. Distracted both scientists enough that he won the fight with his banshee, a tiny thing that was barely half the size of the arena," peter snorted.

"peter found me afterwards, complained that I'd ruined his bet, and my theories weren't structurally sound anyway. Two billion years later, I proved him I was right, and we came here. Lost our banshees to get through, but it was a necessary sacrifice."

"Tnerg wouldn't think so; she loved you."

"Yeah, I know. Anyway, that's how banshees came about here. You're minuscule compared to ours, but there's enough similarities to provide some comfort."

Lydia took a moment to finish her food, thinking about what they'd said. Part of her was dying to ask hundreds more questions - what sort of science did they know, just how advanced were they, what could they tell her? - but she forced herself to stay silent for the moment. Finishing her meal, she set the bowl aside and looked at the two men across from her.

"You said banshees could do more than predict death; how do banshees kill?"

"Screaming, obviously. Hit a certain frequency, get within a particular range, bam! Dead."

"Let me reiterate: how do I kill?" Lydia asked firmly.

"You're not strong enough to kill us, and you never will be," peter said pointedly.

"I have no intention of killing either of you. I have no idea how you're planning on destroying the world, but if you plan on dragging it out, I want to be prepared to defend myself against the survivors with more than a baseball bat."

"You can't. You're not built that way. We didn't want to turn you or any of the other banshees into pets, so we gave you free will, just like the rest of the world."

Lydia frowned slightly. "So... If I give up my free will, I'll be able to defend myself?"

"You give up your free will, then you won't know that you need to defend yourself, Lyds. You'll probably attack everyone, friend or foe, before we even get our plan started," Stiles muttered.

"Well, that will be helpful for you then, won't it? Besides, how do you know I'm not immune to anything you might do?" she added.

"Because we know the limitations of our own creations," peter muttered. "You will lose your will, and you'll become like a Kanima, a creature seeking a master because you won't be able to fend for yourself, even though you'll be able to defend yourself. Think about what you're asking before we take you up on your foolish offer."

"You'll be my masters then. Isn't that what banshees are in your world anyway? Why is this any different?" Lydia asked.

"Because they were never given free will, they earned it. You were given it freely, with the hope that it would be used properly, and yet you have abused it; if we take your own free will away now, you will never be able to get it back again," peter snarled.

"You'll never be able to get your Fields medal," Stiles added. "You wouldn't have a mind of your own to do your work, to do what you've worked your whole life to achieve."

"My whole life? My whole life is minuscule compared to yours! You've lived for billions of years - longer than when the earth was created, longer than the universe itself! You think a measly twenty-odd years is worth anything?"

Stiles sighed, shaking his head. "That's the whole point, Lydia. Every year is worth everything, no matter how young or old you are, and you are not going to waste what's left of your life being a pet to us. Now get out there, live your life, win your Fields medal, and then we'll see if you still want what you're asking for."

"I hate you, both of you, you know that?" she asked, hot and angry tears in her eyes.

"Because we're not doing what you want? Or because you don't want to know what happens to humanity and we're refusing to let you die before then?" peter asked.

"Both," Lydia said, swallowing past the lump in her throat; the friends she'd made and lost, the things she'd found out about herself, about the world itself, all of it would be for naught when the world ended.

It was difficult to slam the loft's sliding door, but somehow, Lydia managed it. peter cleared up the dishes, Stiles trailing along behind him, sitting up on the kitchen island and kicking his feet as he watched peter clean the dishes silently.

"They're all focusing on the wrong thing, you know that, don't you?" Stiles asked, looking down at the speckled kitchen floor.

"Of course. It's just like humans to think of nothing but themselves; they still think they're at the top of the food chain," peter muttered, shaking his head. "They're all so worried about the end of humanity that they're not even considering the world itself. We're just hitting the reset button on them, not our universe."

"Of course not. We did create something good together, it's just not what they all think it is. Silly humans thinking they're better than the universe. We have to clean up the junk they've left in space."

"The oil in the oceans."

"Deforestation."

"Animal extinction."

"I miss the Tasmanian tigers," Stiles said with a sigh.

"You're just saying that because you made them," peter said over his shoulder, grinning.

"Well, someone had to create the awesome animals after the dodo disaster."

"Do you want me to bring up the platypus again? I will, don't tempt me."

Stiles didn't answer for a moment, and peter turned around with a frown, just in time to be hit in the face with Stiles' shirt.

"What are you doing?" he asked, throwing his shirt to the side.

"Tempting you," Stiles said, grinning at him broadly.

peter laughed, pulling Stiles off the kitchen island and firm up against his body. "Consider me tempted."

"Enough flirting, more fucking."

"Impatient as ever," peter murmured against his ear.

"Damn fucking straight I am. Now, clothes off. Bed," Stiles breathed, grinding his hips down against peter firmly.

peter agreed with a soft noise, lips pressed to the spot under Stiles' ear and making him shiver. He wrapped his arms around Stiles, keeping him in place as he carried him up to their bedroom. No matter what the others were planning, it wouldn't stop them from getting their long-awaited revenge.

"What did they tell you, Lydia?" Scott hissed at her during Econ.

"Nothing we didn't already know," she replied, shrugging. "They're still planning on killing us all."

"Lydia, Scott! Care to share your conversation with the class?" Coach Finstock asked, looking between them pointedly.

Scott opened his mouth as if he actually planned on telling them that they were all going to die, and Lydia kicked his shin sharply.

"No, Coach," she said, smiling up at him when Scott let out a cry of pain.

"Good, no one cares anyway," Finstock muttered. The bell rang loudly and he glared at Scott and Lydia before heading back to his desk at the front of the classroom. "And on that note, get out of here before I start drinking during the day."

Lydia rolled her eyes at that; she knew that Finstock had been sober for 13 years. Ignoring Scott, she gathered her things and left the classroom. She had thought about her dinner with Stiles and peter over the weekend and decided that they were right: she could live her life the way she wanted until they decided to destroy the earth, and no supernatural being was going to stop her. Not even a puppy like Scott.

Kira looked at Scott, eyes wide. "Is Lydia still going to help us?"

"I don't think so," he replied, shaking his head. "They must have done something to her; Lydia wouldn't just give up like this."

Looking out the door to where Lydia had left, Kira bit her lip and frowned. "Are you sure, Scott? It doesn't sound like something Stiles or peter would do, does it?"

"They're not Stiles and peter anymore, you have to remember that, Kira," Scott said firmly, but Kira could tell that he didn't really believe it.

Nonetheless, she nodded and quietly followed Scott outside for lunch.

Stiles grinned over at peter as a flash of lightning went off overhead, the light reflected in the windows. peter muttered under his breath, another strike of lightning going off in the second storm to the right, thunder rolling after it.

"Already resorting to thunder, huh?" Stiles chuckled, three quick successions of lightning and an even louder rumble of thunder following.

"Show off," peter said, rolling his eyes.

Rain started to patter in the right storm, the left one beginning almost immediately afterwards. The rain grew colder, thicker, small shards of ice forming until full hailstones were belting down on the town below.

"I win," Stiles called, grinning.

"The rain was my idea."

"Hail was mine," he retorted.

peter let out a small growl, eyes glowing blue, and then a fierce wind started up, tearing through the trees in the preserve.

With all of the noise from the storm, it took both Stiles and peter a few seconds to realise that the alarm was going off and someone was coming up to the loft. peter turned to the door briefly, sniffing.

"Scott," peter snarled.

"I'll deal with him."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I know, Dor. Just try not to kill him yet; we don't want all of this planning to go to waste," Stiles said with a grin, pulling peter down to kiss him firmly.

peter wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist, pressing him up against the hard lines of his own body, loving how perfectly they fit together. They both ignored the pounding on the loft door and Scott's calls. He sounded annoyed, and they were both fairly worked up and turned on by the storm - the lightning and rolling clouds and thunder just did something to them, and they could barely keep their hands off each other when there was a storm raging.

"Hey, assholes! I know you're in there!" Scott yelled, tearing open the loft door, drenched to the bone and looking as angry as they'd ever seen him before.

peter's claws elongated, his eyes flashed blue, and he roared at the interruption through thick fangs.

"peter, what did we just talk about?" Stiles murmured, pressing his lips to his cheek and neck, a hand pressed between his shoulder blades to help calm him.

"That was rude; he didn't have to do that," peter growled, claws retracting but fangs still sharp.

"I've been knocking and screaming for five minutes!" Scott argued.

"It was hardly one minute, and if you couldn't tell, we were a bit preoccupied. Now, what have you come here for?" Stiles asked, turning around to face Scott but not moving from peter's embrace.

A little more placated now that Stiles hadn't left his arms, peter let his fangs slip away, nuzzling at his lover's neck. There was a flash of lightning, as if in response to the action, and peter hid his grin against Stiles' skin, pressing a kiss to his warm flesh.

"This storm is your fault, isn't it?" Scott demanded. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?" he added, glaring.

"Uh, what?" Stiles asked, confused.

"I had a date tonight! With Kira! The exact second we walked outside, it started pouring on us, and Mr. Yukimura refused to let Kira go out with me on my bike! You did this on purpose!"

Stiles scoffed at the accusation. "You hearing yourself, Scotty? Blaming me for the weather? I created the fucking universe, and you think I give enough fucks about your little date to make it rain on you? Seriously, you think you're that important, that the world revolves around you?"

Scott opened and closed his mouth a bit at his answer, but still looked stubborn enough to believe that Stiles really had done it to spite him.

"Tell me, Scotty, do you actually think about things before you do them, or do you just turn up and hope for the best? 'Cause, I gotta say, the shit you've been spewing just doesn't seem at all thought about. You're accusing me of ruining your precious little date - oh, and by the way, you could've fucking stayed with Kira, not come out here to bitch - and you're accusing me of doing it on purpose? Did you even think of the consequences of this, or you still think of me as Stiles, your best friend from kindergarten?" Stiles sneered.

Scott's mouth finally stopped flapping like a fish, and he glared. "Not anymore."

"Good, now get the fuck out of here before I decide to shove a lightning bolt up your ass for being a rude and ungrateful little bastard, just like the rest of them."

Scott turned abruptly, leaving without a word of goodbye, and Stiles shook his head at just how rude his friend was being - he seriously hadn't timed the fucking rain to coincide with his date, and so what if he had anyway? It was rain, for fuck's sakes, not exactly the end of the world. Before Stiles could say exactly that, peter went still behind him, obviously hearing something with his werewolf hearing that Stiles couldn't pick up on. He let out a low snarl against Stiles' shoulder blades, and behind them, there was another flash of lightning, a roll of thunder on its heels, and in the cacophony of noise, there was the sound of an explosion.

"My bike!" Scott cried.

Stiles turned to peter, burying his face against his chest as he laughed.

"Now, where were we?" peter murmured, turning Stiles' face up to him so he could kiss him again.

Stiles' laughter gave way to a moan and he rutted his hips up against peter's eagerly. "About there, I think."

Stiles was woken to the sound of a timid knock at the loft door, and he blinked wearily in the daylight as he stumbled out of bed and towards the door.

"What is it?" he asked through a wide and gaping yawn.

"Uh - Stiles!" Kira squeaked, eyes round as saucers.

"What?" Stiles snapped.

"You're naked!"

"Your point? Either come in and tell me what you want, or stay out there and spontaneously combust over a lack of clothing, I don't care," Stiles muttered, heading over to the kitchen for a much-needed coffee. "peter! The kitsune's here. She's freaking out 'cause she saw my junk."

"I'm not... yeah, okay, a little, but... Why do you have to be naked?" Kira asked, cheeks bright red as she kept her eyes firmly glued to Stiles' hairline.

"Because we had sex last night. It's hard to have sex with clothes on," peter murmured behind her, raising his eyebrow, and threw a pair of boxers at Stiles' head. "Put these on before the kitsune loses her tail."

Stiles rolled his eyes, but slipped the boxers on anyway. "It's not that hard to have sex with clothes on; you just have to be very willing to ruin your outfit for certain tabs to fit in certain slots."

"That would never work for us considering the amount of sex we have," peter snorted.

"Over eight-hundred years, buddy. Be glad I let you wear clothes at all," Stiles said pointedly.

"What did you come here for, Kira?" peter asked, moving to grab a coffee mug from beside Stiles.

"Is it true you hit Scott's bike with a lightning bolt?" she asked, looking between them.

"Yes, and I'd do it a billion times over again," peter replied with a shrug, spooning instant coffee into the mug and then adding the boiled water.

"Why?" Kira asked, surprised.

"You mean he didn't tell you what he was saying about us, about me?" Stiles sneered over the rim of his mug.

Kira's surprise faded quickly and she shook her head. "No, he didn't."

"Why am I not surprised?" Stiles muttered. "peter told me. After the first round of sex, at least. Kind of pissed me off, but I'm refusing to lower myself to his standards."

"Scott's a good guy," Kira said, voice small.

Stiles didn't even need to hear peter's soft 'lie' muttered in response to know that she didn't really mean it.

"Yeah, totally a good guy. I mean, he loves puppies and animals, so he's got to be good, right? Doesn't mean shit," Stiles said, shaking his head. "There's a tonne of good people out there who don't need to work with animals to prove that they're good; he's done some serious shit to people against their will, he's hurt people, he's trapped them and made them less than what they were, all because it suited him. He tell you what happened to the supernaturals yet?"

"their in Eichen House," Kira said, looking confused when Stiles and peter both shook their heads.

"their still in there all right, but not as bad. You remember what Deaton had to do to get info on what Kate did to Derek in Mexico?" Stiles prompted, and Kira nodded quickly.

"Really? But... Deaton couldn't get out of that coma without Lydia! He was quiet for weeks afterwards, and wouldn't even talk to Scott!" Kira said, eyes wide.

Kira looked down at the kitchen bench, worrying at her bottom lip. "Scott... He thinks that you did something to Lydia. Mind control or used your power on her to turn her against him," she added.

peter snorted and shook his head, while Stiles just rolled his eyes. "My, Scott certainly thinks we're that invested in his life, doesn't he?" Stiles murmured to peter, smirking now.

"All we did was talk to her, same as you, Kira," peter promised.

"We really don't give a fuck what you do; you'll never kill us or stop us, so just do whatever the fuck you want to do until the end. Finish high school, go on a holiday, travel and see the world, or join Scott on his little crusade. It's your life to live, and you can do whatever you like with it. We do not give a fuck."

Kira nodded in response, looking a little whelmed at Stiles' vehement words. Then she looked up at them, breathing a little unsteadily before she replied. "Will you tell me how long we have? Ballpark figure, not the exact date," she hurried to reassure them.

peter looked to Stiles, raising an eyebrow slightly. Stiles tilted his head to the slightly, and if she hadn't seen them do something similar to this over the years, Kira would swear that they were both telepathic.

"Three to six years. Should be enough time for Lydia to get her Fields Medal, and you to do whatever it is you want."

"Years?!" Kira asked, eyes wide in surprise.

"Would you prefer months? Weeks, days? We could probably destroy everything in a few hours; what do you think, Zbee?" peter asked, trying hard not to grin, Stiles looking as though he was seriously considering his question.

"No-no-no-no! It wasn't a complaint! I swear, just... Years. I can deal with that. Thank you," Kira gushed, rushing over to kiss peter's cheek, then Stiles'. "I mean... I kinda wish you'd reconsider the whole mass death thing, but... I can deal with it. I guess. Um, maybe," she added, wringing her hands.

"You want us to erase your memory?" peter offered.

"W-what?"

"You remember what we did before, erasing your memory of us?" peter prompted, getting a quick and wary nod in return. "We can do the same thing, give you a sense of our answer without the full memory attached. If you'd like," he added.

"So, like... I'd know that everyone was going to die, but I wouldn't know the exact 3 to 6 years part?" Kira replied.

"Yeah, something like that. You'd get a feeling of the 3 to 6 years part, but wouldn't remember us telling you that part specifically. Fuck, we can erase your memory of this whole place if you wanted to get out sooner," Stiles offered, shrugging.

"Wait. Beacon Hills, you, peter, Scott?"

"Yep; it'd all be gone, replaced with whatever you wanted to believe."

"Sounds a little too Eternal Sunshine for me," Kira said with a small laugh.

"No problem, just the year part of the conversation then," peter said.

Kira looked between them a bit nervously, then took another deep breath, and nodded firmly.

Stiles and peter moved towards her, and Kira closed her eyes tight, feeling a pressure at the front of her head.

"Did they tell you?" Scott asked Kira, voice quiet and eyes intense during homeroom the next morning.

Finstock glared at them as he continued to call attendance, and Scott sat back in his seat quickly.

Scott repeated his question as they left for English together, and Kira shook her head.

"They didn't tell me when," she said. "They told me about the supernaturals in beaken hills. You just said that Deaton had taken care of it, that he was in Eichen House. Why didn't you tell me the truth?"

Scott's eyes widened. "W-what? It is the truth! He's in Eichen and Deaton took care of it!"

"Yeah, but he's trapped in his own mind, Scott. That's... That's not right, and you know it, otherwise you wouldn't have lied to me about it," Kira said, looking at him and searching for something Scott wasn't sure she'd find.

"Kira, I didn't tell you because Eichen House is a big part of your history, and I didn't want you - or your parents - to relive any of that."

"You can't protect me all the time, Scott! I'm not a child, and you don't have to lie to me because you think you'll hurt my feelings! I'd rather have the truth and be hurt than have you lie to me! That's not what relationships are made of," Kira said, angrily, desperately.

"I know that! I swear I do, I just - "

"And what about the other things you've done? The people you've hurt, the people you've used? Who else have you trapped and used against their will?" Kira demanded.

"I... We need to get to English, Kira. Can we talk about this later?" Scott asked, seeing that a group of people had gathered around them, curious to witness the arguing couple.

"No, we can't," Kira said. "My parents are leaving for Japan, and I'm going with them. I want to travel, see as much of the world as I can, and I ... I can't do that here, Scott."

At the edge of the gathering with the students, Finstock's mouth dropped open at Kira's announcement. "You can't leave! We've got a game this Friday and you're goalie! God, Greenberg, stop your whimpering! Someone call Danny!"

"You're leaving? You're really leaving me? Beacon Hills?" Scott asked, eyes wide. "What about us?"

Kira smiled softly and shook her head. "You're not going to let this go with them, I know you won't, Scott. I know you too well, and it's going to drag you down, and I'll be dragged down with you. I can't do that, I won't do that to myself. I need to get out before this gets any worse. You have to understand that."

"Yeah. I understand you're putting yourself first. You're getting yourself out and leaving the rest of us here to die," Scott hissed, jaw clenched.

"Sometimes it's the only thing you can do. You can't save everyone, Scott, you have to accept that truth some time," Kira said.

"No! No, I don't, okay! Because so far, I have saved everyone! I have, and I won't stop now!"

"That's exactly my point, Scott. You won't ever stop," Kira said, placing a soft kiss on his cheek and heading to English, the group of students parting before her.

Finstock was actually weeping, and Kira gave him a brief smile.

"We're not leaving until Saturday, Coach. I can still play one last game."

"Oh, thank god," Finstock said, reaching out as if to hug her in relief, then clenched his fists and pulled his arms back. "Good to hear, Yukimura. All of you get to class! No, I don't want your tissue, Greenberg, who knows where that thing's been?"

The students hurried to disperse before Finstock could gather them up and force them to do laps around the oval (he'd done it once before until Mrs. Martin realised that a significant number of her students were missing from class).

Liam glanced to Mason and grabbed his hand. Hearing Kira's conversation with Scott just cemented his idea to visit Stiles and peter. Mason seemed to get that without him needing to say so, and Liam squeezed his hand in thanks before letting go. They'd visit Stiles and peter that weekend, after the game and they'd seen Kira off at the airport. It was the least they could do for the kitsune.

Stiles and peter were watching a documentary about black holes on television when Liam and Mason arrived on Saturday afternoon after seeing Kira and her parents off at the airport. Scott hadn't been there. Surprisingly, Coach had turned up, and gave Kira her lacrosse jersey to take with her to Japan. Kira had waited for Scott until the final boarding call, then turned and boarded the plane without looking back. Liam and Mason had waited even longer, but he still hadn't shown, even half an hour later.

The two boys knocked on the loft door and waited, Liam moving back and forth on his feet nervously.

"Hey, it's the puppies! C'mon in," Stiles called, and the loft door opened even though both men were still sitting in front of the television.

"I'm not a puppy," Mason muttered.

"Close enough," Stiles replied, shrugging.

"Mind if we finish watching this show? There's barely fifteen minutes left," peter added.

"Okay," Liam said, sitting on the armchair while Mason sat up on the armrest beside him. Mason's presence calmed him, and Liam clutched his hand.

"Why are you watching a documentary on black holes? Didn't you create the universe?" Mason asked, frowning.

"Yes, but we never created black holes," Stiles murmured, chewing on a fingernail.

"Wait, really? So, what does that mean?" Liam asked nervously, eyes wide.

"It means we've spent the last hour and fifteen minutes watching this show, and would like to watch the last fifteen minutes in peace," Stiles snapped, relaxing when peter took his hand, drawing a triskelion on the back of his palm.

Liam and Mason went quiet, watching the last of the documentary as if they could glean something from it themselves. The credits rolled without the boys being any wiser about black holes, but peter and Stiles were looking at each other, heads tilting and eyebrows raising like they knew something. Then Stiles blinked and the moment was over. He turned the TV off and they both turned their attention to Liam and Mason.

"So, what can we do for you?" Stiles asked, grinning.

Liam was nervous and couldn't get the words out, hands running over his jeans to try to wipe off the sweat. Mason took his hand and squeezed gently.

"Want me to ask?" Mason offered, and grateful, Liam nodded quickly. "You're still planning on killing everyone?" he asked, looking to peter and Stiles.

"Yes, we are. Do we need to write it in the sky or something; how many times do we have to repeat ourselves?" Stiles muttered.

peter shook his head slightly and traced a triskelion between Stiles' shoulder blades, watching as he calmed almost immediately. Stiles sighed and rested back against peter.

"Sorry, you're like the fourth person who's asked in the last week, and I'm getting kinda pissed that I have to keep repeating myself," Stiles muttered.

Mason gave a brief nod. "We can't change your mind; there's nothing we can say or do to save us?"

On Stiles' back, peter's hand stilled, and peter sat up a bit straighter, leaning forward.

"Save us? As in us, all of humanity? Or us, just you two?" peter asked, a wolfish grin on his face.

"Would it matter? If you can save two of us, five of us, ten or twenty of us, why couldn't you save all of us?" Mason asked.

peter chuckled at Mason avoiding his question, shook his head and rested back against the lounge, his hand continuing to trace the calming motion on Stiles' back.

"Could you save Beacon Hills?" Liam asked suddenly. "Not everyone, just us, our town?"

"Saving Beacon Hills means saving the Nemeton, saving Eichen House, saving all of the weird and wacky that comes with this town. The town'll be overrun by all kinds of Big 'n Bad within a week, and you'd most likely be killed in a painful and bloody mess by them instead of quick by us," Stiles said, shrugging.

"How are you planning on doing it?" Liam asked, clenching Mason's hand tighter.

"Some say that the world will end in fire, some say in ice."

"Quoting Robert Frost doesn't help us. How can we survive if we don't know what to expect?" Mason asked, desperate and bordering on angry.

"Who said you were being given the chance to survive?" peter snarled. "You seem to think that we are not serious about this; do you, what, think that we are going to see you at the end, crying, pitiful, and pathetic, and we'll break? Do you think that our will is so weak as to be broken over ones such as you? You are lucky we have even let you remember and know what is going to happen. There are very few who have been granted that favour.

"I don't want to know," Liam admitted quietly.

"What? Liam, you mean that?" Mason asked, surprised.

Liam took a second to breathe in, try to swallow past the lump in his throat, and look at Mason to nod firmly. "I can't handle this, Mas. I either need to know everything or nothing at all. I know they won't tell us everything, and I kinda get that. But I can't live like this, not when I know something is going to happen, but not what or how or when. I don't want to remember anything. I just want it to go away. I want to play lacrosse, finish high school, be with you, be normal. I mean, the werewolf thing probably isn't going to go away any time soon, but it'll be more normal than this."

"We can take that part away as well, if you'd like?" peter offered suddenly.

"Really?!" Liam asked, eyes wide as he stared at them.

"Yes, really. I mean, you'd be easier to break than you are now, but we can take it away if you truly want," Stiles said with a nod.

"Yes. Please, I definitely want that. I didn't ask for this; I just want to be normal again. Please," Liam said.

Beside him, Mason sighed heavily. "Take my memory too," he muttered. "Don't give me that look, as if I'm going to stand by and let you not remember anything while I remember it all. I'd have to tell you, and we'd be right back here all over again," Mason pointed out. He pressed a firm kiss to Liam's mouth. "All right, I'm ready."

"We'll still feel the same about each other, memories or not, right?" Liam asked, nervous all of a sudden.

Stiles and peter stood up in the centre of the lounge room, hands held loosely between them.

"Sure, we can leave that in. You might not have a whole lot of context as to why you feel so strongly about each other when you were only friends a few months ago, but humans always do have a way of filling in the gaps. Maybe you got hurt during lacrosse and Mason was the one that stayed beside your hospital bed all night?" Stiles suggested.

"You two sure about this? We can't do it if you're not 100% positive," peter added.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Liam said firmly, standing and stepping towards peter.

"Sure," Mason agreed, moving towards Stiles and taking Liam's hand in his.

Stiles and peter let go of each other, moving forward to press their blue-glowing hands against the boys' foreheads.

"Liam! Liam, wait up," Scott called across the hallway, but Liam continued on as if he hadn't heard Scott over the rest of the students' noise. "Liam, I called you. You okay?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine. You're ... Scott, right?" Liam asked, frowning up at him.

"Yeah, Liam, I'm Scott," he replied, confused beyond belief. "Did you talk to Stiles and peter?"

"Who's peter? What's a Stiles?" Liam asked, bringing his messenger back across his front, as if to put something between him and Scott, like he was afraid of him, which was ridiculous of course.

"Stiles and peter, former members of our pack. You said that you and Mason would go talk to them on Saturday. We agreed on this last week, Liam. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Okay, obviously, you've got me confused with another Liam or something, 'cause I've never seen you apart from lacrosse training. We've never talked about a peter or Stiles, and you're kinda freaking me out," Liam said, Mason coming up behind him when he saw that Liam was uncomfortable.

Scott's eyes widened. How did Liam not remember him?! Even Mason was looking at him weirdly, like he'd never talked to him before, like they hadn't been part of his pack for the last six months.

"But Liam, you're my beta. You're part of my pack. You're a werewolf, like I am," Scott said, voice quiet as he let his eyes filter to red.

"Whoa, those are seriously insane contacts, but trying to convince us that you're a werewolf? Have you been watching too much TV or something?" Mason asked with a scoff.

"It's true. Liam's one too. Look, I'll prove it," Scott said, reaching out and grabbing Liam's arm.

"Okay, crazy person. We've dealt with your weirdness enough for one day. Go see the student counsellor," Mason said, tugging Liam back against him and trying to get him away from Scott.

Scott was obviously stronger, and he kept his hold on Liam's arm easily.

"No, it's true! Just give me a second," he said, applying more pressure to Liam's arm, ignoring his beta's whimper of pain - it would be over in a moment.

"Get your hands off him!" Mason yelled, drawing the attention of Coach as he was passing.

"McCall! What are you doing to Dunbar?" Finstock asked, hand firm on Scott's shoulder.

"I... I was just... trying to prove a point," Scott said, letting go of Liam like he'd been scalded.

Liam bit his lip, trying not to whimper again in pain, cradling his bruised arm against his chest. The bruises weren't fading, Scott realised with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"What point was that, McCall? That physical abuse is acceptable form athletic discipline?" Finstock asked, voice firm and angry, his grip on Scott's shoulder almost as tight as the one he'd had on Liam's arm.

"No, Coach. I was - "

"I don't care what your excuse is, McCall, this is seriously shitty behaviour, especially coming from you. Principal's office, now," Finstock said, escorting Scott up to the principal's office.

"You okay, Liam?" Mason asked quietly, taking his uninjured arm's hand and guiding him away from the rest of the school while they were all preoccupied with watching Scott being marched away instead.

Liam stared at their hands, his aching arm forgotten for the moment. Mason looked a little sheepish when he noticed Liam looking, but he didn't let go yet.

"This okay?" Mason asked, and Liam nodded quickly, grinning.

His grin barely slipped, even though his fast nod made his shoulder move and his arm ache in response.

"Yeah, it's good. C'mon, I've got to get to the nurse's office, that really hurt," Liam said with a slight frown.

"Can't believe Scott McCall did that to you. He always seemed so nice. Maybe finals pressure has made him snap or something," Mason mused as they headed up to the nurse's office hand in hand.

"He was acting really weird," Liam agreed, shaking his head.

They were the talk of the afternoon, and the stories told at the school ranged from Scott actually breaking Liam's arm and Mason fighting him off to Scott going insane and trying to break Liam's arm.

Liam and Mason didn't stray far from the other for the whole day, and Mason kept an arm curled around Liam protectively when people tried to get in close to look at his bandaged arm. Liam flushed bright red at the attention, but being beside Mason helped calm him, and he didn't feel as overwhelmed as he might have last year.

To say that Scott was in a bad mood by the time he started at the vet clinic that afternoon was an understatement. He'd been put on probation, come very close to being suspended, and was being benched for at least the next three lacrosse games. The only reason he hadn't been put under house arrest immediately by his mother was because he had a job to get to, and Deaton was out of town.

Hoping that some time with the puppies would calm him down, Scott headed straight to the back of the clinic where his puppy therapy awaited. The puppies clambered onto him eagerly, licking and happy to see him, and Scott petted them gently, letting out a red-eyed growl when one of the puppies growled at him playfully.

The front door bell tinkled loudly, pulling Scott away from the puppies, and he called out to the customer that he'd be with them in a moment, hurrying to put the puppies back in their kennels. Wiping his hands on his jeans, Scott went to the front, and suddenly wished he hadn't heard the bell. Mrs. Murray was renown for being difficult, and her Doberman still terrified Scott despite his Alpha status.

"Ah, there you are. You've kept me waiting. Where is Dr. Deaton?" Mrs. Murray asked expectantly.

"He's out of town for a conference, and won't be back until Wednesday morning," Scott replied, hoping like hell that Mrs. Murray would go and come back when Deaton was available.

"Well, I have to go overseas early tomorrow morning, and the kennel on Marker Road is full, so I suppose there's nothing else for it. Artemis, you behave yourself. There's a good boy. And you, if I come back on Wednesday and my Artie is upset like he was last time, I will ensure that you are fired. Permanently."

"Yes, Mrs. Murray. Thank you for your business, Mrs. Murray. I'll take good care of Artie... Artemis," he corrected quickly when Mrs. Murray lifted her eyebrow and Artemis let out a growl.

She sniffed slightly in response, turned and left, Scott holding Artemis' leash carefully.

"Okay. It's okay. No need to freak out. I'm the True Alpha, I can totally do this," Scott murmured to himself. "Come on Artemis, let's go through to the back," he called, heading in that direction, only to almost fall over when the Doberman refused to move.

After much cajoling, pulling, and one attempt at pushing, Scott finally had Artemis in his kennel for the night, and sat in the middle of the kennel area, panting in exertion himself. The door bell tinkled again, but before Scott could call out, the dogs all started barking eagerly at once, even the old deaf English sheepdog that couldn't hear Scott calling from a few metres away and definitely should not have heard the tiny bell.

"Oh, look at them all! They're so cute!"

"We're not here for a puppy, Stiles."

"I know, I know. But they're still cute."

"Sure, if you like slobbering balls of fluff that leave hair on every surface possible."

"Hey, I still like you, peter."

"Funny."

Scott clenched his fists, determined to fight to the end if that's what Stiles and Derek had come for.

"Whoa, that's a nice way to greet your best friend, Scotty!"

"What do you two want?" Scott demanded, glaring at them.

"Just came by for a visit," Stiles said with a shrug.

"We wanted to see if you'd stopped your ridiculous crusade against us," peter added.

"Never! I'm not letting you destroy everything!" Scott said firmly, still glaring. "I don't know what you've done to the others, but you're not going to change my mind! I'll fight you 'til the end. I'll get an army, and I'll stop you from destroying the world."

In the cage beside him, Artemis growled low and deep, a threatening growl that made Scott flinch.

"A whole army against lil' ol' us? Aw, you shouldn't have!"

"You're not going to get away with this. People will stand with me, they'll fight with me. We deserve to live!" Scott said hotly.

"So did we!" Stiles snarled.

"Zbee, calm down," peter murmured, winding an arm around his waist.

"Why did you come here?" Scott asked, hands still curled into fists, and his clawed fingers sharp against his palms.

"We came to see if you would accept an offer, but obviously, talking to you isn't worth our time," peter added with a slight glare.

"An offer? What could you possibly offer me other than letting the world live?"

"Ever since you've been bitten, all you've said is that you want to be normal again. You saw Liam today, didn't you?" Stiles added.

"So, what, I accept your offer to become normal and don't retaliate against you, is that it? I become normal just in time to be killed in a global homicide?"

"It's an offer to give you what you've wanted, the life you want to live while you still can. I thought you'd be happy to be normal again," Stiles replied.

"No, it wouldn't make me happy, Stiles. Nothing you can offer would ever make me happy because in the end, I'm still going to die!"

Stiles and peter both frowned at Scott's outburst.

"But, Scott, you're going to die anyway. You're a werewolf, you're not immortal. You won't live forever, you do know that, don't you?"

"Of course I know that! But I'd leave some sort of legacy behind!"

"Oh, of course," peter murmured, looking almost amused at Scott's response. "You don't want to be normal, you want to be special. You want people to remember your name, remember what you've given to them, don't you? There's no way you'd be able to achieve that if you were normal; no, that's the destiny of a True Alpha."

Stiles looked at Scott, frowning as if he'd never seen him before, and then shook his head. "You were right, peter. He's never going to accept. Let's go home and we'll set up the telescope."

"You mean, I'll set it up because you'll get frustrated with the instructions."

"Instructions shouldn't be written in such small writing," Stiles groused.

peter rolled his eyes, then looked to Scott. "Last chance, Scott. You won't be given another."

"I won't need another chance, I'm going to kill both of you," Scott snarled, full of righteous anger and indignation.

Stiles laughed at that, and over his laughter, Scott heard the kennels' locks unlatching. Before he could do anything, the dogs all walked out of the kennels calmly, gathering around Stiles and peter, barking eagerly. Even Artemis was acting like an overjoyed puppy at their presence, and Scott couldn't believe that they were able to draw such a response from the animals when they were going to destroy the earth.

"Please, peter? Please?" Stiles asked, eyes wide.

"Fine, but you're cleaning up after it," peter muttered.

Stiles let out a noise of delight, wrapping his arms around peter's neck and kissing him firmly. "You're getting so many blow jobs later."

Still confused as to what was going on, Scott moved forward, worried about the fate of the dogs who were still barking for Stiles and peter's attention. He couldn't get far, because when Scott reached the edge of the kennels, he was held back by a wall of blue light. It reminded him of a mountain ash barrier, and he let out a growl, trying to push his way through it as he had before, but the light held him back and it burned.

"Come on, Artemis, that's a good boy," Stiles cooed, kneeling down to pet the docile Doberman. "Aren't you such a good dog? Yes, you are. peter, tell Artemis he's a good boy."

peter sighed and shook his head, and the Doberman let out a small pitiful whine. "You are a good boy, Artemis. Very good. You'll help me look after stiles, won't you?" he added firmly.

Artemis let out a bark of affirmation, rubbing up against Stiles' cheek.

"He likes scenting me too, peter. He's perfect," Stiles said, grinning as he continued to pet the large dog.

"I already agreed, Stiles. Take him before I change my mind; I'll get the others sorted," peter added.

Stiles stood up and nodded, brushing his lips up against peter's before he headed out with the Doberman trotting along peacefully beside him. peter pet the rest of the remaining dogs, guiding them back to the blue light and their kennels. The dogs passed through the lit barrier without a problem, and despite hitting it over and over, Scott was still stuck. When the last of the dogs had returned to their kennels, the locks all closed once more.

"We're taking a few bags of dog food. I'll leave the money on the counter," peter called, holding up a wad of green notes before heading back into the clinic.

It was only when Scott could no longer hear their car that the barrier disappeared, and he ran into the clinic to find that almost an entire pallet of dog food had been taken. Artemis was no where in sight, and he couldn't even catch the scent of the Doberman anywhere around the clinic.

Artemis had been stolen right in front of him! Deaton was going to fire him, and Mrs. Murray was probably going to kill him.

Scott sighed, wondering if he could report a dog stolen and if anyone at the police station would actually believe his story. His eyes widened, and he took his phone out to call the Sheriff. The Sheriff would believe him; he'd have to!

The Sheriff had received a call from a somewhat distressed Scott McCall earlier in the day. It was night now, and he could see the stars overhead as he headed from the police station to his cruiser. He had promised Scott that he would look into the stolen dog, and promptly texted Stiles to let him know that he would be at the loft that night for dinner. Stiles had replied almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting for his message, and while he hadn't sounded ashamed or remorseful, even by text, Stiles had mentioned that he and Derek now had a dog.

As John pulled up to peter's apartment building, he wondered if Stiles could even feel remorse or shame anymore. Then he laughed, because when had Stiles ever shown remorse or shame? Even when he was younger and had been caught trying to shave their neighbour's cat, Stiles had only shown confusion at their response. Claudia had explained that what he had done was wrong, and Stiles had simply said he wouldn't do it again. A tiny little man, with words and eyes that were bigger and older than he was, and how had John never realised what he was before?

He sighed, getting out of the cruiser and headed up to the loft space. John was greeted at the door by peter and a dog that was far too tall to be a normal dog.

"Artemis, say hi to Pops," Stiles called from the dining area.

Artemis barked, looking pleased with himself.

"Uh. Hello, Artemis," John said in response because he didn't want to be rude, and a dog had just barked at him on command.

"I'm assuming dinner tonight isn't purely a social visit?" peter asked, scratching Artemis' head gently as he led John and the Doberman towards the table.

Artemis moved to lie down between Stiles and peter's chairs without a word of command. John tried not to stare, and pretended to be interested in the table setting instead. He moved to sit opposite Stiles and peter, suddenly feeling as though he was facing an interrogation.

"No, it's not, son. I received a call from Scott earlier this evening. He was very distressed, saying that you and Stiles had stolen one of his client's dogs? A large black Doberman by the name of Artemis?" John added pointedly, glancing over their shoulders where he could see Artemis' tail wagging contently.

"Well, we weren't going to change his name. He likes being called the name of a mythical hunter. Huntress," Stiles corrected himself at Artemis' slight whine.

"What did Scott's client say?" peter asked curiously. "You called her to verify his story?"

John coughed slightly, rubbed the back of his head, and then nodded. "That's where it gets a little weird. Mrs. Murray claims she's never owned a Doberman, and her Pomeranian's safe at the kennel on Marker Road. I called with them to check, and they've been caring for Apollo since Monday afternoon."

Stiles smirked at that. "Told you they'd believe it, peter."

"It was risky doing it a day before," peter replied a little tersely.

"Humans always fill the gaps themselves," Stiles retorted, shrugging.

"So, let me get this straight. You really did steal Mrs. Murray's dog? But then you gave her another dog and made her believe she'd never owned the one you stole? Why bother giving her another dog at all?"

"Too much work to get rid of all of the dog-related stuff in her house. Besides, we weren't just going to steal some old woman's dog and leave it at that! Geez, Pops, who do you take me for?" Stiles asked.

"The same person who refused to clean up his room unless I paid you per square inch."

Stiles snickered at that response, and grinned at John broadly. "You're the one that actually paid me."

"You should see what I have to pay him with to get him to do any chores now," peter muttered, not quite under his breath.

Stiles laughed outright at that, pressing a loud smacking kiss to peter's cheek. "Nah, Dor, trust me; Pops doesn't want to know about how you pay me."

"You're not taking advantage of him, are you?" John asked suddenly, looking between the two of them.

"No, sir. Not doing anything that we both haven't agreed to in the first place," peter said quickly, actually blushing.

"I was talking to Stiles, son," John replied.

"No one's taking advantage of anyone, Pops. Promise," Stiles added, taking peter's hand in his own and threading their fingers together.

John looked between them for a moment longer, trying to determine that they were telling the truth. peter no longer looked quite so flushed, and Stiles simply looked amused.

"Fine. What's for dinner?" John asked, looking towards the dark kitchen.

"We ordered Chinese. It should be here soon," Stiles said.

Almost on cue, peter looked towards the window and stood up a second later. Artemis lifted his head with a soft whine and peter tapped his fingers on his thigh twice, Artemis standing and following peter out of the loft easily.

"You've trained Artemis surprisingly fast since you've only had a few hours with him," John murmured.

"peter's good with dogs. Always has been good with animals, both here and elsewhere."

"Your elsewhere is your home planet, isn't it?"

"Universe, actually. It's more vast than one planet alone, and we were able to travel to other planets freely, unlike here. Though, we did that for a reason," Stiles muttered, low enough that John almost didn't hear him.

"Do you have parents? Real parents, I mean? Back in your universe."

"Kinda," Stiles said with a slight frown, rubbing the back of his head as he thought about how to explain it. "We were... The universe we came from was more interested in science than emotion, and we were born purely for the advancement of our race. There are scheduled times for procreation, and once we're born, most are left to the care of others to help us grow and learn. There was nothing wrong with that kind of upbringing, it worked for us and our race, but... Well, for me, at least, it always felt as though something was missing."

"There's a reason that we say we escaped our universe rather than we left," peter added as he returned with their food, Artemis following him quietly.

Stiles gave a brief shrug. "Unconditional love is something we've only ever experienced with each other - "

"Even when Zbee is annoying," peter added, grinning.

"Or when peter's a grumpy creeperwolf," Stiles retorted, rolling his eyes. "But we been fortunate enough to have some measure of that kind of love in our parents here on Earth. You remind me of Bogumił," he added with a soft smile.

peter took Stiles' hand in his, stroking gently. John stared at them for a moment, remembering all the times he'd done something similar to Claudia over the years.

"Baw-who?" John asked, confused.

"Baw-guw-meew," Stiles pronounced, grinning when he saw John mouthing over the syllables silently. "Bogumił was my father when I was first in this form. He was beaten to death by the same men who killed peter and me."

"Not a topic for dinner with your father, Stiles," peter murmured, handing him a box of kung pao chicken.

"I want to know," John said suddenly, even surprising himself. He wanted to know about this man that had raised Stiles the first time, wanted to know how alike they were, just what this other man would have done to keep Stiles safe. "But maybe after dinner?" he suggested.

Stiles gave a nod, chopsticks already working to shovel food into his mouth.

"Chow mein for you, Sheriff," peter said, offering the box to him.

"Thanks, son. Egg rolls?"

Stiles immediately snatched the small bag of egg rolls and glared at both of them with a mouthful of food. "No egg rolls for you, old man," he said after he'd swallowed his food.

"Why not?"

"You always douse them in chilli sauce! It'll give you a heart attack one of these days," Stiles muttered, holding the bag closer and somehow still managing to eat his food at the same time.

"I'm going to die sooner or later, Stiles. Give me the egg rolls," John said, holding a hand out for them.

peter rolled his eyes, snatched the bag out of Stiles' grip and handed them to John, who looked both surprised and pleased at the same time. Stiles glowered at peter for his betrayal, but he just shrugged in return.

"He's right," peter said, eating his moo shu pork calmly, despite Stiles' glare.

"Just because peter is trying to butter you up, it doesn't mean this kind of eating can continue, got it, old man?" Stiles said, waving his chopsticks at his food.

John just grinned and grabbed the bottle of chilli sauce for his egg rolls.

"So not getting sex tonight, you bastard," Stiles muttered to peter, not quite quiet enough and John focused on his chilli sauce determinedly.

"Like you've ever gone through with denying either of us sex," peter muttered back, cheeks going pink as he flicked his gaze over to the Sheriff.

"I didn't know you were interested in astronomy. I suppose that's sort of a given, being gods and all?" John said, a little louder than he meant.

"We're looking at black holes, actually," peter answered. "But you're right, astronomy for us is kind of a given."

"I got in so many jokes about gas in the first thousand years," Stiles added with a wistful sigh.

"The Milky Way was made in less time than it took for Zbee to think of a funny joke."

"It's always been difficult to make you laugh, peter. Well, Deidre seemed to think I was funny, but then, she also smiled a lot more than you," Stiles murmured, poking peter's cheek with his chopstick.

"Who's Deidre?" John asked, confused and curious. It seemed to be a common combination lately, especially where his son was concerned.

"peter's previous incarnation. She was also killed by people hunting us. They tortured her first, but that's another topic that's not suitable for dinner," Stiles quipped, though his tone was laced with sarcasm.

If John hadn't been looking directly at Stiles, he would have missed the expression of pure distraught that crossed his son's face. The emotion was similar to the one he'd felt in the days, weeks, months following Claudia's death, and it was something that made John want to go out and hurt someone for hurting his son like that.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm here now, we're together. It'll all be okay," peter murmured, ignoring the Sheriff completely as he pulled Stiles off his seat and onto his lap, wrapping his arms around him firmly.

"Not the point, peter," Stiles mumbled, burying his face against his chest. "peter was better than I ever was, and they... they hurt her, peter. They hurt you, they keep hurting you, over and over. I just want to be with you, is that too much to ask?"

"No. No, it's not," John said, his voice firm and angrier than he expected.

He had meant to stay silent, to give them this moment alone, but he just couldn't. They had both been hurt so many times, and for as long as they had been present on Earth. It wasn't fair, any of it, and John didn't care if the whole world died tomorrow if his boy could just find a moment of peace with the person he loved more than anyone else. It was all anyone ever deserved: to be happy and at peace, and unfortunately, the Sheriff knew all too well how rare it was to achieve that.

Stiles sniffed, quickly wiping his nose on the back of sleeve, and slid off peter's lap to his own seat again. They all ate quietly for a few more minutes, and behind Stiles and peter, Artemis stood up and made his way over to the Sheriff. He was almost as tall as John when he was sitting down, but the Doberman simply rested his head on the Sheriff's lap, giving a soft whine.

"Uh, can I?" John asked, helpless to the poor dog.

"Egg roll without chilli," peter said, grinning.

"You feed him, you'll have his loyalty for life," Stiles said, looking a bit perkier now.

"However long that is," John murmured, taking the last egg roll and offering it to Artemis.

He was rewarded with a happy bark and a hand full of dog saliva for his trouble, but didn't mind at all, wiping his hand off on his napkin before scratching Artemis behind the ears, chuckling when the dog's tongue lolled out.

"Are you upset?" Stiles asked.

"Hmm? About what?" John asked.

"Y'know, impending destruction of humanity?"

John stopped scratching Artemis, withdrawing his hand as he looked at Stiles and peter. Artemis gave a soft whine and put his head back on John's lap, trying to nudge his wet nose under John's hand. He petted Artemis absent-mindedly, thinking about Stiles' question for a moment longer.

"We're all going to die eventually. I suppose that's just something people say to make themselves feel better about the idea of death, and I doubt anyone truly thinks that we'll all die at the same time, so they all think they'll have something to continue beyond them. But... I think I understand why you're doing this. I'm sure I'll understand more after dinner and your explanations, but for now, I've lived my life, and I know too much about this world - and the supernatural one - to think that it will end if you simply get revenge on one person, or group of people. I've seen the best and worst of people, and no matter what the movies and TV shows say, when people are faced with their own mortality, they will do whatever it takes to avoid dying. People will panic, there will be mass hysteria, and it won't be pretty. If you do plan on leaving anyone alive after what you intend to do, they'll probably revert back to the old times were gods were worshipped and people were sacrificed."

"We never asked for those sacrifices, nor wanted them. Absolute waste of life at the hands of men who thought they were more important than they were," peter muttered.

"Humans have always believed themselves to be more important than they are," Stiles agreed.

"What will you do when we're all dead?" John asked.

"Start over, let nature take back the earth. It's been completely decimated in some places, other countries have huge craters in them, and there are entire ecosystems that have been destroyed for no good reason," peter said, shaking his head with a sigh.

"Mining is actually one of the dumber things you've all done, you realise that, don't you? You're disrupting the earth's interior, which is the thing holding you up, by the way - and if you dig far enough, which you will because your greed outweighs all common sense, apparently - you'll eventually just collapse in on yourselves. It's sheer stupidity, thinking that you can control nature like that. I mean, that'll only happen if you keep going at the rate you're all going at now. But until then, you've still got erosion, sinkholes, destroying the biodiversity, and contaminating the soil with all the crap you use to clear the land. Like, seriously, I don't get your thought processes! Who the hell looks at the ground they're standing on and thinks 'I'm going to start digging right here at my feet and nothing could possibly go wrong'?! We should've taken away your ability to procreate when you created the concept of money," Stiles groaned.

"Money is the way the world works," John said with a brief shrug.

"No, it's not. It works nothing but the inflated egos of men! You created money, the cost of living, and all of that other economic crap! In the beginning, people were absolutely fine trading each other for things, no money involved! Creating money means that you're effectively killing off people who don't have enough money to live in your supposed first world. You don't have money, you don't eat, you fucking starve to death, and apparently people think that that's a perfectly acceptable way to live! Do you not see the world you live in? You're killing each other even if you're not at war."

John was taken aback at the passion in his son's voice, the tinge of desperation and plea for understanding that came through, the revulsion he felt rolling through his stomach as his words hit home.

"I don't... I've never really thought of it like that before."

"Yeah, I know. It's sitting right there on your doorstep but you don't see it when you look out the peephole."

"That's a dumb analogy, Stiles," peter said, laughing.

"Oh, shut up, it's all I could think of."

"Are you doing anything about it?" John asked, looking between them. "There're people out there, living on the streets, and you're gods, aren't you? Can't you make a building for them, give them money, something?"

"We could make a building, sure, but there's no way that any local government or council would let them live in it without prosecution. Buildings don't just appear overnight, they would be considered squatters, and would probably be evacuated or imprisoned for trespassing. As to the money: that's not something that we created, and we don't really have a way to make it, especially without the machines on hand. If we tried now, it would look like a cheap counterfeit job at best. Could you imagine any shop owner's response when someone who looks homeless walks in with a wad of cash? You'd be getting calls at the station within minutes."

"Anything that we'd try would just be met head-on with human stupidity and stubbornness. There would be accusations of stealing, not acceptance of a miracle or something. It's too far from Christmas for that kind of thing to be believed anyway," peter said with a derisive snort.

John sighed heavily, and Artemis whined and licked his hand, sensing his emotion.

"Let's add that to the list of topics not to be discussed at dinner," Stiles groaned, putting his head in his hands. "Didn't mean to depress you, Dad. Maybe we should leave peter's story for another day?"

"No, no, it's all right. I still want to hear it," John replied firmly.

"Let's move to the lounge area then. I'll get you a beer; you might need it for this."

"Just the one, I'll be driving home later. Wouldn't do for the Sheriff to be pulled over for drink driving," John said, trying to lighten the atmosphere, however briefly that relief was.

"We'll make sure you're sober before you head off, Dad; don't worry about that," Stiles promised, clapping John on the back before leading him over to the lounge as peter cleared the Chinese boxes and chopsticks.

Artemis followed after John and Stiles, moving so he was sitting in front of John's feet, heavy and warm against his feet. He grinned, leaning forward to pat Artemis, rubbing behind his ears before sitting back and waiting for Stiles and peter to tell their story.

Scott had been pacing all afternoon, waiting for a call from the Sheriff, from Mrs. Murray, from Deaton. So far, he hadn't heard a thing, and he had literally worn a hole in his carpet. He'd thought that was just an old wives' tale, but apparently not. He vaguely heard a car pull up to their house and his mother answer the door, but was still worrying about the possibility of being fired and didn't focus in on the sound.

"Scott? You still up there?" Melissa called.

"Yes!" Scott called back, quickly moving to stand on top of the worn spot on the carpet.

"Sheriff's here for you."

Scott's eyes widened, and he rushed downstairs, almost falling down the bottom two steps in his hurry.

"Don't fall down the stairs again, Scott. I don't want to have to reset your broken arm again, werewolf healing or not," Melissa said pointedly.

"Sorry. Sheriff, you're here! Did you see them? What did they say? Did they have Artemis?"

"What's going on?" Melissa asked, frowning as she looked between her son and her ... Sheriff.

"Stiles and peter are gods, and they stole one of the dogs from my work," Scott answered absent-mindedly, waiting for the Sheriff's response.

"Wait, what?! John, is he kidding? Oh, god, he's not kidding. I... Gods, really? When did this happen?" Melissa asked weakly.

"Mum, I'll explain later! What did they say, Sheriff?"

"Don't take that tone with your mother, you know it's a shock to find out about them, Scott. Melissa, I'll answer all of your questions in a minute. Go sit down, I'll be in there soon," the Sheriff said kindly, guiding her towards the lounge room door.

Melissa nodded, looking a little dazed, and plonked down on the lounge.

"Well?" Scott asked.

"After you called me, I talked to Mrs. Murray. She claimed that she has never owned a Doberman called Artemis. She has a Pomeranian called Apollo, which is currently staying at the dog kennel on Marker Road. I called them to confirm, Scott, and it's true. Stiles and peter do have a dog, but as Mrs. Murray doesn't believe it is her dog, there's nothing I can do."

"But they stole him right in front of me!"

"How will you press charges or make a statement about a dog that, for all accounts and purposes, that doesn't belong to you or the person you believe it belongs to?"

Scott frowned slightly, but then he stepped back, jaw dropping. "They got to you, didn't they? They did something, used their magic on you, and you're on their side now, just like the rest of them, aren't you?!"

"Scott, there are no sides to this. The things they've been through - "

"I don't care! I don't care what they've been through, what they're doing is wrong! Why am I the only one to see that?!" Scott yelled, storming out of the house and slamming the door behind him.

"Geez!" Melissa cried out, startled at the noise. "The door's not falling out of the frame again, is it? I could do with not needing to replace something in the house this month," she said, sighing. Then she looked to John, eyes a little wider. "They're really gods? Like, God gods?"

"Yeah, seems like it."

"Does this mean we have to start saying Oh my Stiles instead? 'Cause I don't think I could handle that," Melissa joked, trying to smile.

John laughed, easing her emotions slightly, and moved to sit across from her. "I'll tell you all I can, but it's not pleasant and it's not pretty. Mel, they... They've been through so much, and they still love each other so much. That sort of love, it's - it's nothing like anything we can ever feel here on Earth, they've been together for billions of years, and I see them, and all I can see is my son living with his boyfriend in a loft with a hole in the wall."

"Oh, John... You have to start from the beginning, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the gods part. Billions of years, too?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. That's what I felt like, too." John took a steadying breath, running his hands over his face. "I think I'll give you the short version tonight; I don't want to be out too late. I need to pick up Henry."

"Henry? As in Henry the hobo that sleeps on the bench outside of the hospital?"

"Yeah. I'm not - I won't be able to sleep, knowing he's sleeping out there. I'll explain that too," John added, seeing Melissa's surprised expression.

"I'm all ears," Melissa said, waving for him to start talking.

John sighed, leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees, and started explaining everything that had happened since he answered Lydia Martin's phone call begging him to go to a loft on the outskirts of town.

Stiles heard peter and Artemis return from their evening run, but kept his eye on the telescope lens, looking out to the stars they'd created. A few had burned out since they'd first made them, but others had also brightened in their place, a balance between old and new. He moved the telescope slightly, focusing on a black hole. Obviously, the lens itself couldn't see it, but Stiles knew every inch of the universe, and his power helped him see what was happening beyond the scope of the human senses.

"Find something?" peter asked, filling up Artemis' bowl from his water bottle before taking a swig himself.

"I think they're getting closer," Stiles murmured, frowning slightly as he moved between one and another black hole.

"Think it's a threat?" peter asked, coming up behind him.

Stiles moved aside slightly, peter leaning over his body to look through the telescope himself.

"I don't know. Maybe," Stiles answered.

"It's not something we have to deal with tonight, is it?" peter murmured, pressing hot kisses against Stiles' exposed neck.

"Definitely not," he agreed, grinning.

"Good. Do you know how hard you make me when you get so passionate about something? I almost dragged you away at dinner just to fuck you because you got pissed off about mining."

"Well, it's stupid."

peter chuckled against his skin, hot and low behind his ear. "I thought we decided that human decisions are stupid overall anyway?"

"Mmm, true. We need to create a smarter race next time," Stiles muttered.

They were silent for a moment, peter caressing and touching Stiles as they slipped into silence.

"Love you so much, stiles. You're the best thing that ever happened to me," peter admitted.

"Not hard, considering all the things that have happened to you," Stiles ground out, still angry and annoyed from the memories he'd relived that evening. Then he sighed, and straightened up to turn around in peter's embrace. "I love you too, peter. More than anything."

"I know," peter murmured with a soft smile, brushing his cheek with the pad of his thumb before cupping his cheek and pulling him in for a kiss.

Stiles returned the kiss, holding peter's face in his hands, and moving so his body was pressed against his. "Now, we going to keep talking, or are we going to bed?" Stiles asked when they pulled away.

"Bed or bed?" peter breathed against his cheek as Stiles started to grind against him.

"I said no sex tonight, remember?"

"Hmm, I remember," peter murmured, holding Stiles' hips to grind back against him.

"Oh, fuck. Okay, sex tonight."

"Mmm, and tomorrow, and the night after, and the one after that, and every other night after that."

"Sex from now until the end of time? Sounds good to me," Stiles said breathily, sucking a mark onto peter's neck, watching as it faded from sight.

"Same," peter said, grinning.

"Come on, bed now, and you can fuck me."

"You want me to fuck you tonight?" peter asked, a little surprised; Stiles usually liked to top when they'd talked about their past lives, as if to remind himself that peter was really there and not going away again.

"It's a full moon tomorrow, you need it more," Stiles murmured, taking his hand and squeezing it gently.

peter squeezed back, pressing a kiss to his knuckles before leading Stiles to their bed.