The pack slept soundly on their return to The Stilinski house, where John firmly told Peter to sleep in the spare room because it was way too late for him to be driving, he was a wolf, but he was still tired. So none of them woke until the early afternoon, the indignant sun shining through useless curtains into their darker rooms until finally, they woke up.
Stiles was the first to wake, his pale skin glinting in the dappled light of his room as he stretched, rising sleepy hands to rub at his disorientated eyes.
The house was in a peaceful silence, encapsulated in a zone of serenity: pack. Stiles soaked up the benefits of being the first to wake, lying peacefully in bed, searching for any noises, and satisfied when he heard none.
After a few minutes, boredom seeped into his awake brain, like the light glowing through the still closed curtains. He stood up, ambled over to the light of the windows, and drew them aside, opening the window, then basking in the fresh, morning air.
Stiles pulled a ragged shirt over his bare chest, and left his room, in search of nutrition. As he walked towards the stairs, he halted, in front of the guest room door. Peter. He silently debated the pros and cons of checking on the Were, then jumped guiltily when his muffled voice sounded from the other side.
"I can hear you, Stiles." Stiles blushed. "Just come in, your heartbeat is so loud I can't think."
Stiles opens the door hurriedly, stepping inside and shutting it, leaning against it awkwardly. It surprises him, seeing Peter lying so casually in bed. He didn't see the man like that often. His hair was spiked in several different directions, and his face looked open, his face unshaven. He looked adorable. Deciding to ignore the confusing emotion, Stiles did what he did best: talked.
"Surely if my heartbeat was loud out there it's louder now?" He quipped.
Peter rolled his eyes, his hands resting on a book propped in his lap.
"You sounded like a rabbit that was being chased, god knows what was going through your mind." Peter grouches. His eyes show his concern, though, so Stiles smiles reassuringly, mindful that the Were had promised to heal him. He was trying, in his own way!
As he settles into the wicker chair situated in the corner of the room, he stares out of the opened windows, as he gazes at the passing street, his eyes widen, and his heartbeat speeds up. The eyes, the red orbs outside his window so long ago...he'd forgotten all about them...he discretely stares at Peter, who had gone back to his book. Stiles coughs, loudly, awkwardly. Peter looks up, unimpressed.
"Is there something you wanted to say?"
"Were you the red eyes?" Peters' face looks blank, confused. Stiles persists. "The ones outside of my window, it was about half a year ago?"
The Weres face shows a dawn of understanding, but after a few moments, he narrows his eyes again.
"Red?" He asked. Stiles nodded warily. Peter hummed, a wondering look creeping onto his face.
"I thought you were a beta now? Why didn't you tell me you were an alpha?" Stiles half-shouts, gripping the chair like a vice.
Peter huffs angrily. "I'm not! I'm still a beta, I don't...I don't know why my eyes were red that night..." He drops the book onto the bed, his eyes now cloudy, preoccupied.
Stiles crosses his arms, unbelieving. Peter sighs, and warps his face, the smooth skin turning furred and gnarled. Stiles looks on, baffled, as the man's eyes shine blue...beta blue.
"Oh..." His shoulders wilt, but he absentmindedly rubs his arm, wondering why Peter's eyes had changed that night. "And why pray tell, were you outside my room, anyway?"
As he watches, Peter blushes, shifting uncomfortably in his bed. "I just got back to Beacon Hills...I was checking up on everyone!" He looks defensive, and Stiles laughs, relieved he had no ill intentions. Peter growled playfully, throwing the book at Stiles, who squeaked, alarmed, and dived out of the way.
Later, when Stiles, Peter, John and Nadia were eating breakfast, Stiles asked the druid about the red eyes. "Nadia..."
She looked up from her cereal, "Yes...?"
"Peter is a beta, and his eyes..they were red! Some months back, now. But...they glowed red! But they're blue again now..."
Nadia stared at Peter, her eyes widening a fraction before she returned calmly to her meal. "Was he protecting someone or something?" Stiles looked at Peter, who shrugged nonchalantly.
The druid hummed, nodding and setting her fork down. "His natural orientation is alpha, but his rank is beta, simply because he has no official wolf pack to take charge of. So when he was protecting you, Stiles." She looked at the boy knowingly. "His orientation took over, it's a more powerful rank than his normal beta, so he took on his most dominant self to protect you." Stiles looked confused, then nodded slowly. Every wolf had an orientation they were born with, which was completely separate from where they belonged in their pack. An alpha of a pack could be a beta in orientation, and a beta could similarly be an alpha in orientation.
"Cool..." Stiles appeared to lose interest, scarfing down his pop tart before slinging his bag over his shoulder, but the thought lingered in the back of his inquisitive brain.
"I'll meet you in the car, alpha?" He smirked at Peter, who rolled his eyes, but the blush on his cheeks reddened even further. He nodded faintly, and the boy grabbed his keys, and left the house, with a wave to The Sheriff and Nadia. "Bye pops, bye Nadia!" The respective people wave goodbye, and the boy is gone. Nadia stands up, stacking the dishes onto her own, clearing the table and ignoring Peters' eyes. Peter grabs them, smiling forcefully at her, ignoring her protests.
Begrudgingly, she follows Peter into the kitchen to clean the dishes and tidy up. Before she can turn the tap on, Peter turns towards her, setting down the cutlery in his hands.
"You lied." He says stonily.
Nadia frowns, the movement furrowing her brow. "I...I didn't think you'd want to hear the truth in front of...Stiles."
Peters' eyes widen, and he grips the surface of the counter uneasily. "The truth?"
Nadia inclines her head, looking pained. "I thought it was your place to tell him. But I don't like lying to him..." Her heart beats steadily, and Peter looks nervously at her. "You...you're an alpha, that's your orientation, and your alpha side was showing to protect someone, but...that only happens for...mates. True mates. You were instinctually trying to prove your worth to him..."
Peters face drains of all colour, and he stares at Nadia, time seems to slow down, and for another ten seconds, a clock emits a continuous, ominous ticking, too loud for Peter's now sensitive ears...True mate?
Was Stiles his true mate?
Nadia looked panicked, and her once steady heartbeat sped up, an obvious sign of distress.
"No...no...his dad would kill me..." His voice sounds faint, strained.
"Mates can be platonic! It would be hard to date...if it's not Stiles...but, you don't have to be in a relationship with him, at least, not at first!" Her persuasive voice sounds doubtful, and Peter is reminded of her story of just how hard it was for her to resist Penny...
He was doomed. Feeling his teeth lengthen, and his claws sharpen, Peter groans, panting quietly, as he tries to take in the news. There was no doubt he...liked Stiles. But the age difference...his father was a Sheriff! He gave up on finding his mate years ago...now look where he was.
Wrapped up in the turmoil in his mind, Peter gives in to the gnawing desire to hurt himself again. Nadia gasps, watching as he digs his claws into his arm, pinpricks of blood oozing out and splashing onto the cold floor. She tries to pull his arm away, but backs away, scared, as he growls loudly at her.
"Peter...Peter!" Her voice echoes, drenched in magic, and the Were twitches, before bringing his nails away from the wound, his claws retracted, and blood dripped slowly from the crescents that had nearly healed already on his arm.
He sighs a ragged, pained, animalistic growl. Nadia stares at him. "Stiles needs you, he's in the car, and you're going to be late...but it'll work out, it always does." She surges forward, then, and hugs the startled man, who returns it gratefully.
"Yeah...and thanks, by the way." He pulls away from her, smiling awkwardly. She nods, tucking her escaping hair behind her ear.
"It's forgotten." She says simply. That's why the two were friends.
Heading out to his waiting vehicle, Peter tries to calm the reeling thoughts in his mind and sets a smile on his face as Stiles stares at him through the window.
"Ready?"
"Never."
Peter chuckles, a strain noise to break the now awkward silence. The ride falls into an uneasy nothing, and Stiles steadily emits the scent of worry, doubt and insecurity.
"Are you okay, Peter?" He asks suddenly.
If only you knew. He thinks. "Uh huh."
Stiles doesn't look convinced but smiles encouragingly. Peter feels the guilt eating away at him, for Stiles, and for Nadia. He shouldn't have to lie to his...mate...and Nadia shouldn't have to lie either. Peter grimaces internally, and decides...he'll tell him tonight. After school and training. Plastering on a fake smirk, he asks "You haven't gone soft on me, have you?"
Stiles rolls his eyes, and hums contentedly, eyes fixed on the road. He curses loudly, looking at his watch. "I'm going to be late, not that I mind...but I haven't had to see Mrs Reid for a while for a late slip, so she'll be disappointed." He groans, tapping his hand against the seat in agitation.
Peter frowns, feeling guilty. "Sorry..." He mumbles.
Stiles stares at him, seeing how sad the older man looks. "No, it'll be alright! I've got a get out of jail free card with Mrs Reid, the whole dead mum thing..." He jokes, but Peter grits his teeth, accelerating, the engine of the sleek sports car purring smoothly.
Peter rolls to a stop in front of BHHS, and Stiles stumbles out of the door, waving hastily behind him. Peter drives away, and Stiles bounds up the steps. On entering the building, he spots the elderly school receptionist, who tuts playfully at him, sliding a late form towards him. "Morning, Mrs Reid..." He says sheepishly and scribbles down his oh so dire offence on the card.
"A good morning to you too, it seems?" She queries, taking the pen off of him and placing it in an old chipped mug filled with various stationery supplies.
Stiles chuckles guiltily. "Yeah..."
"Take care of yourself, dear. Mr Haris mentioned you..." She looked troubled, trying to find the right words for such a delicate matter. "Had a cut? On your arm? I would have asked you about it earlier, but I've not seen you in such a while...you're taking care of yourself, aren't you?" The elderly lady rambles on, but Stiles mind goes blank, his face going pale. He nods faintly, and hurries through to the main entrance to the school, ignoring the receptionist's protest.
Mr Haris...his teacher...knew. He tried to fool himself that the man wouldn't realise he'd done it himself, but of course, he knew, his sharp eyes caught every scurmish and difference in his classroom, it was certain he'd realised what happened. As he slides shakily down the wall of a corridor, he realises why Haris had been so understanding that day...
Someone knew. Someone else. Knew.
Shit.
Stumbling into the nearby bathroom, Stiles gasped, banging into doors and sinks, collapsing in the furthest one. When he slid to the floor, his panting escalating to a harsh whine, he opened his eyes. Scott.
A pang of pain bolted through his stomach, and Stiles tried to stand up, but to no avail. As he lay heaving on the floor, his fragile bony hands gripping uselessly at the frozen floor, he watched the Alpha bolt, slamming the door behind him.
Any last hope Stiles had for Scott vanished, and he slowly sank into a laying position, trembling on the floor. If none of the previous events meant anything, this one solidified his severed relationship with him, and all of that pack. Panic gave way to anger, but he reigned it in, his nails digging sharp pains into his arm, unknowingly, exactly like Peter; minutes before.
The Hale Pack meant nothing to him now.