Stiles stormed out to his jeep. He slammed the door and drove off without looking back. He didn't need to look to know that the werewolf was watching him through the window of the coffee shop.
For a moment Stiles just drove, a white-knuckled grip on the wheel.
What was Peter thinking? That he could just throw money at him and everything was fine?
"Why can't you just leave me alone?" Stiles asked through gritted teeth. Why had he even told Peter his story? What did he expect? That Peter would beg for forgiveness? Aside from saying that he was sorry, money was the only way Peter could even try to make amends, Stiles got that. It wasn't that he would magically be able to leave Derek just because one of the Hale pack acknowledged what they had done to Stiles. Not that he wanted to leave Derek, Stiles liked his life the way it was.
"Where is the point?" Stiles asked.
On the other hand, it had been Stiles who had come to the library on a day he usually didn't go there in hope to meet Peter. He could have just hidden in the lake for a week or two, or a decade or two, if he wanted to and just wait for Peter to lose interest. Or to die of old age. Instead, he'd come here.
It didn't help either that he had caught himself staring at Peter's collar bone. V-necks should be prohibited. And the sexual innuendo, Stiles couldn't deny that either.
"I hate Hales," Stiles told nobody in particular but he had to admit the banter with Peter was fun.
Stiles gave himself a few minutes to compose himself before he drove over to John's. It was one of their dinner nights and if he didn't have to cover for somebody, John should be home by now.
Stiles parked his car in the usual spot, leaving enough space for the cruiser which wasn't there yet. Not a good sign.
"Of course." Stiles groaned and got out of the car. It was just his luck.
The second he set a foot on the ground that rat of a dog came yipping after him. Stiles sprinted to the front door but he had to search for his keys which the dog used to bite his ankle.
"He just wants to play," Mrs. Chandler shouted over from her driveway, cheerfully watching while her little devil was mauling Stiles' pant leg. At least he was wearing jeans today, the thick fabric protected him from the worst.
Stiles didn't even bother with asking her to call Buttons back, he just shook his foot to dislodge the dog. With a wave at Mrs. Chandler, he dodged into the house and slammed the door shut behind him. He was kind of hoping to accidentally squish that little monster with the door but no such luck.
"Not my day," Stiles muttered and went farther into the house. "Absolutely not my day."
He went into the kitchen to see what John had planned for dinner, if he had planned anything or if they would order in. With John's crazy schedule lately, Stiles often brought dinner when he came over or they had take-out. Most of the time John didn't have the time to cook and Stiles was banned from touching the stove. The pancake incident had been almost ten years ago, it was ridiculous that he was still not allowed to use the stove but John insisted.
So Stiles helped himself to a sandwich to last him over to whenever they would have dinner. If they had dinner together today. He checked the clock on the wall just to confirm that John was late.
"Great, just fucking great."
After his conversation with Peter, he had been looking forward to some distraction but no such luck.
With his sandwich in one hand, he used the other one to pat down his pants in search for his phone. Usually, John gave him a heads-up if he was running late or wouldn't be home at all but Stiles might have missed it. Since he had been in the library he had turned his phone to vibration only because that was just common courtesy, right? Nobody wanted to hear loud ringtones in a library. Or worse, people talking on their phones. That was just rude. So Stiles made a point of switching to vibration whenever he was in the library and he did tell off whoever he caught talking loudly on their phone. It was a fucking library, what part of "shh" didn't they understand?
However, his phone was in none of his pockets. Stiles groaned. It must be in his bag which was in his jeep which was outside where most likely Buttons the chihuahua from hell was still waiting to take another chunk out of his ankle.
Stiles finished his sandwich before he peeked out of the window to see if Cujo was still out there. The little bastard was nowhere in sight so Stiles dared to open the door and to dash over to his jeep.
He came back in a few minutes later with a bloody sock and no bag.
"Dammit!" He cursed after he'd once again closed the door right in the dog's face.
He knew that he had his bag when he had left the library with Peter, he had stored his books in there. He had put it down in the coffee shop but he couldn't remember if he'd grabbed it on his hasty retreat or not.
"Looks like not." Stiles thumped the back of his head against the door. So it was either still at the coffee shop or Peter had taken it. Given his luck today and the fact that a lot of his research about the Hale family was in that bag as well, he would bet money that Peter had it.
Which gave him a reason to interact with the werewolf again. Not that he wanted to interact with him again. Peter and his stupid v-neck should just leave him alone.
Which brought him back to the conversation they had earlier. Stiles went over it again in his head. Why had he even said the things he'd said? He had told John what had happened to him ages ago when they had become friends but otherwise Stiles liked to pretend that it had never happened. And then Peter came along and had to bring everything back up.
Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
He felt the water closing over his head, soaking the cloth they had stuffed in his mouth. He had struggled, he had fought but he had still sunken like a rock to the bottom of the lake. With his hands and feet bound, there had been nothing he could have done about it. He had known that. He had known that he would drown. He had held his breath for as long as he could, his lungs had been on fire but he'd held his breath for just a second longer but eventually he had sucked in the water.
Stiles put a hand on his chest. He could still feel his lungs screaming in need of air but all they had gotten had been water. He had drowned that day. He had died.
With his back still pressed against the door, he slid down until his butt hit the ground.
He couldn't breathe. He was gasping for air but it wouldn't reach his lungs. His chest tightened and he felt the strangled gasps he was making but the sound was lost in the rushing of the blood in his ears. He was drowning again.
Stiles curled in to himself, his vision tunneled and he was just waiting for the darkness to consume him again. To drown him again.
"Stiles."
Stiles heard somebody calling his name but it was distant and muffled which made sense since he was drowning right now.
"Hey, it's okay," the voice continued. "I'm here."
Distantly he was aware that he was manhandled into a sitting position, his back pressed to somebody's chest.
Caught in his panic it took Stiles a while to identify that somebody as John.
"Breathe with me," John said, most likely not for the first time. He had put a hand on Stiles' chest, keeping him close.
It took a while but eventually, Stiles' breath slowed down to match what he felt from John's chest firmly in his back.
Eventually, Stiles relaxed into the solid body behind him, his head resting on John's shoulder.
"You with me again?" John asked but didn't let go of him just yet.
Stiles nodded, not trusting his voice but he did dare to take in a deep breath. His ribs were aching and he just knew that his whole thorax would be sore tomorrow but he drew in the air with little resistance.
"What happened?" John asked.
"Told Peter Hale what his pack did to me." Stiles closed his eyes and once again wondered why he had opened his stupid mouth in the first place.
"I can see how you took it," John said and only now Stiles noticed the position they were in. They were sitting on the floor, John with his back to the wall and Stiles with his back to John's chest between John's spread legs. John had still a hand on Stiles' chest, grounding him. Stiles let out a sigh and relaxed more into the firm body behind him.
"How did Peter take it?" John ask.
"It wasn't what he expected." Stiles couldn't help a chuckle at the memory of Peter's face. "He offered money. As if that fixes anything."
John was quiet for a long moment. Long enough for Stiles to remember that he was living at John's expense. Maybe he should have taken the money instead of laughing in Peter's face.
"I …" Stiles started but he was cut off by John.
"You made the right decision," John assured him. "You would only become dependent on him, that's never a good thing."
"I am dependent on you," Stiles reminded him. "But I guess, I can always go back to my old ways." He craned his neck to grin at him. John groaned.
"Please don't." He made a suffering face. "It would shine a bad light on me if my deputies drag in my nephew once a week."
"I didn't get caught that often," Stiles defended himself.
"Too often for my liking. You were relying on Derek to bail you out way too much." John patted his chest to get him going. Getting the hint, Stiles scrambled to his feet. He did feel dizzy for a moment but John had a strong grip on his upper arm to keep him upright until he had collected himself.
"You didn't answer your phone so I didn't know if you would be here," John said, still a wary eye on him. "We can order pizza if you like."
Pizza sounded good, suddenly Stiles was starving.
John made the call while Stiles went upstairs to take a shower. His clothes were damp with sweat and he didn't need a werewolf's nose to know that he was reeking.
When he came back downstairs freshly showered and wearing soft sweats and a well-worn t-shirt, he kept most of his wardrobe at John's, the pizza had arrived and John had set the coffee table. Looked like they were eating in front of the TV today.
"That bad?" Stiles asked, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. Usually, they ate at the kitchen table, dinner plus TV was a thing for the weekends or the bad days. They both had bad days from time to time but today it wasn't John.
"The game is on." John pointed at the running TV without even looking at the screen. Neither of them was a fan and Stiles doubted that John even knew which teams were playing but Stiles took his seat next to him without commenting on it and reached for a slice of pizza.
"Any idea what Peter is going to do now?" John broke the silence.
"No clue," Stiles admitted, puffing around a hot bite in his mouth. "But I'm pretty sure that he has my bag so I have to see him again."
"How did he get your bag?" John asked, suddenly in sheriff mode.
"Forgot it at the coffee shop when I left." When he'd fled the coffee shop to be correct but Stiles didn't say that out loud. "Besides, I think that he's interested in me. If not my bag he would find another reason to see me again."
"Interested?" John picked up on that. "You mean interested or interested?"
Stiles thought about it for a moment. Peter had been like a dog, werewolf, with a bone right from the beginning and what Stiles had given him today would only make him more persistent. But he also couldn't deny the sexual tension between them. And it was not only Peter.
"Both?" Stiles crunched his face. "I think?"
"Stiles!"
He was saved by the sound of running water coming from the kitchen.
"Shit!" Stiles almost dropped his half-eaten slice of pizza. "I forgot the time."
A second later Derek was standing in the kitchen door, dripping all over the floor.
"You're not going to drag me through the pipes, we're taking the jeep," Stiles yelled at him. He had already lost his bag today, no way was he leaving the jeep at John's.
"Sit down and have some pizza." John gestured at the chair closest to Derek. "We have more than enough."
