Staring at himself in the mirror, Stiles felt entirely disconnected from his reflection, from his own body. It was a bit like being a passenger at the back of his brain, watching as his body went through the motions of movement automatically, his bare chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm even though he felt like he was suffocating.
Talia Hale had led them silently into the house, gesturing Stiles into the little bathroom down the hall while the rest of the group filed slowly into the library. He'd locked the door behind himself more out of spite than any real hope for privacy or safety, and had stood over the sink clutching at the counter for a good five minutes before he began to settle back into his skin, felt weighted back to the earth.
At some point he'd pulled off his hoodie and his t-shirt, tossed the shredded fabric onto the lid of the toilet as he stared at himself, milk-white and trembling, his eyes huge and dark and haunted in his face. There was a stark, bloody handprint curled around the base of his throat, a little more smudged over the lower half of his face, and something jolted in him that had him scrabbling suddenly at the taps, soaking a scrap of his shirt beneath the faucet and scrubbing at his skin, rubbing it pink and raw even as he did a sloppy job, his muscles to tense and jerky to do it right.
Sucking in gasps of air, he twisted the cloth tightly between his fingers, trying to grab on to what little control he had left. He'd expected there to be claw marks slashed into his skin, curving over his shoulder, but it was entirely free of marks outside of those that had already been there - a thin, raised crescent bite and those four, black, scripted words.
You must be Stiles.
A harsh, half hysterical giggle scraped its way out of Stiles throat, exhaustion washing over him in a wave. His feelings about the soul mark and what it meant to be bonded had changed a hundred times over the years, again and again and almost always different, but one thing had always stayed the same - someone out there was supposed to love him. No matter the highs or lows, whether he thought it was a good thing or a bad thing, he'd always believed that someone was required by fate to love him. Obsessively, possessively, unhealthily, but still, the point stood.
Having Peter Hale speak those words had shattered half his world, and being attacked by him seconds later had shattered the other.
Stiles' fingers were damp and icy cold when he wrapped them around his shoulder, traced the scar, the unmarked skin.
A tiny part of him deep, deep down snickered and sneered, because at least he'd gotten that much right.
Can't hurt me asshole. Sucks to suck.
And he hadn't not really. Even spun totally out of control, snapping and snarling and raging so close to his throat that Stiles was actually lucky he hadn't pissed himself, Peter hadn't been able to hurt him. The wolf had practically slashed his clothes right off his body, but there wasn't a drop of blood, not a nick or a scratch or a line of red left behind by those razor sharp claws.
It was that, knowing that for sure now, that enabled Stiles to straighten his shoulders, grab his hoodie, and leave the bathroom without tumbling back into the depths of a panic attack, to shake away the last vestiges of adrenaline-tremble and wander up the hallway to the library where low, irritable voices hummed.
It wasn't quite enough to make him raise his head though.
The full force of every pair of eyes in the room turning on him hit Stiles like a truck, heavy and too sharp, and it made his breath catch in his throat as he turned his hoodie in his hands, fingered the long, ragged tears at the collar.
"It's ruined," he muttered when he felt his father step in close to his side, felt his hand on his bicep, burning hot on his bare skin. "Good metaphor huh?"
"Stiles?"
"Wrecked, ruined, torn apart…" he elaborated, sarcasm coming to his defense as he finally looked up, eyebrows raised. "I don't have a thesaurus with me but I could probably keep going."
"Stiles that's not…" his father began hesitantly, but then his determined Sheriff's face settled and he gripped both of his shoulders tightly. "I'm not gonna let that happen," he said firmly, insistently, and it cut at something in Stiles' chest that the older man actually seemed to believe it. "This doesn't change anything, you understand me?"
"Actually Sheriff, I'm afraid it does just that."
Making a wide, pointed gesture in Talia Hale's general direction, Stiles sighed heavily and dropped into the hard wooden chair he'd occupied earlier that morning, draping his hoodie over his knee.
God he was tired.
"If you don't mind Alpha Hale," the Sheriff gritted out, "I like a clear explanation of what the hell just happened. My son's been attacked by one of your betas - I'm not exactly in the mood for politics or bullshit."
"Of course," the werewolf replied, but her eyes were glowing bright red and Stiles kicked the back of his father's leg, a silent reminder not to antagonize anyone.
The Alpha was standing behind her desk with arms crossed, shoulders back, looking ready to declare war while Laura sat in a chair to her right, her whole body tense and small as she tucked one knee over the other and clenched her fingers tightly around her elbows. David and Nicholas Hale weren't so tense, standing more loosely as they leaned against the bookcases side by side, quiet and out of the way, but they both had their hands in their pockets and Stiles suspected they were curled into fists.
Talia opened her mouth to speak again but before she could get a word out Calvin came stalking into the room with a scowl on his face, but the frown turned soft as he stopped in front of Stiles, reached out to take his chin gently between his fingers and tilt his face to one side.
Behind him Stiles' father and both his deputies stepped forward, hands going automatically to their empty holsters, but Stiles failed to flinch, couldn't summon the energy, so he just stared up at the werewolf with a glare, his only emotion a vague irritation at being touched so cavalierly after being thrown violently against a wall.
"All right kid?" the man asked, trailing his gaze over pale skin and Stiles sneered, risked shoving his hand away.
"Fine," he snarled through gritted teeth, and Calvin's eyes flickered gold as he grinned, teeth sharp and pointed beneath his lip.
"Calvin!" Talia snapped, and the werewolf turned with what looked suspiciously like a laughing shrug, shaking his head once at his Alpha before crossing the room to David's side and planting himself in one of the wingbacks, legs spread wide to keep his boots planted firmly on the ground.
Sighing heavily, Talia pinched the bridge of her nose before giving herself a minute shake and coming around from behind the desk, approaching Stiles slowly.
"May I?" she asked, ignoring the Sheriff's hard glare, keeping her eyes on Stiles instead.
"Whatever," he muttered.
It was immediate, the word and the permission out of his mouth before he'd even thought about it. Years, years of keeping it a secret, shielding the words from literally everyone, and now he just couldn't care anymore. It was small consolation that she had the good grace to look a bit ashamed of herself before stepping in close to his side and looming over him, her red gaze heavy on his neck. Her hand lit briefly on his shoulder and his skin flickered beneath her touch but he didn't flinch, stone still but for the minute, automatic reaction.
Later he would be rather proud of that.
"You know what this is?" she asked, a fingertip tracing the scar and making an unpleasant shiver run down Stiles' spine.
"Yes," he bit out, jerking his shoulder away from her, relieved when she nodded and took a step back. "It's a bond mark."
"It is," she agreed, slipping past Laura into her seat, smoothing down her blouse before folding her hands on top of the desk and leveling him with a firm, steady gaze. "And unfortunately those are my brother's teeth."
"You're sure?" the Sheriff demanded, and beside him Calvin snorted.
"We're sure," he deadpanned, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles. "Peter bit a lot when we were kids. We've both seen more of those teeth than we'd care to."
"Enough," Talia snapped, and Calvin ducked his head in deference, eyeing Stiles who had paled and shivered. Motioning with one hand, he beckoned Nicholas to his side, said something that sent the younger man nodding and slipping silently from the room.
"Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski," Talia continued, "Please allow me to offer my sincerest apologies, and understand that I realize any words I can offer pale in comparison to what you've experienced here today."
"Damn right!" the Sheriff barked. "You're brother just assaulted my teenage son - I could have him arrested!"
"Sheriff, believe me when I say that that would only make things worse," Talia said coldly. "For everyone involved, including Stiles. Unfortunately there is little I can do about the relationship between my brother and your son - the nature of a soul bond limits my control over the situation - but rest assured that Peter will be reprimanded appropriately for his behavior."
Stiles watched silently as his dad opened his mouth to shout, the red creeping up his neck a tell-tale sign that his blood pressure was rising, but once again an interruption put the brakes on what could easily become an out and out brawl. It was Nicholas this time that brought them back down, offering Stiles a checkered flannel shirt in green and white.
"Should fit," he said, waiting patiently until Stiles reached out and took it from him, shook it out. "We look about the same size."
"Thanks," he finally managed, and the guy offered up an easy smile before sharing a glance with Calvin and ducking out again.
His head was starting to hurt with the effort of tracking everyone coming and going from the room, remembering names and trying to decide whether or not he was getting a good vibe from one or the other so he quit trying, stuffing his arms into the shirt and buttoning it halfway up his chest. It was just a little too tight across his shoulders, but it was soft in a worn-in sort of way and it made him feel far less vulnerable than he had sitting there half-naked.
"Sheriff, you suggested that you take your son home and forget this ever happened," Talia Hale said, pulling them back into the conversation neatly and succinctly, and with all the subtlety of an axe hanging over their heads. "Despite my brother's reaction, and given the circumstances…"
Sighing, Talia's eyes moved to Stiles' shoulder once again.
"Given the circumstances I think it would be best if Stiles stays here."
The silence that followed that statement couldn't have been cut with a freaking lightsaber.
"Excuse me?" Stiles' father said, deathly cold and calm.
"A soul bond is a complicated thing Sheriff," she said, sagging back in her chair as a solemn frown touched her face, and for the first time Stiles actually felt a little bit of honest emotion from her. "There will be… consequences of this, both physical and emotional, for Stiles and for Peter. Now that the bond has been activated, now that their souls have recognized each other… you cannot simply pretend that this didn't happen."
"Consequences," Stiles repeated, his voice rough and raw like he'd been crying. "What…"
"Shared emotions," Talia replied, looking at him carefully. "Shared pain. There will be times when your psyche or your body will want to seek Peter out, will be searching for the connection you've only just started building. If you choose to ignore that, if you force yourself to stay away, injury and illness can and will follow."
"How do you know that?" Stiles choked, desperation leaking into his tone. "How can you know that? I don't even know him, he doesn't even… You can't know that!"
"We do know that Stiles."
It was almost the first thing that David Hale had said to him directly, and Stiles might have glared if he wasn't morbidly fascinated by the man suddenly rolling up his left sleeve, all the way to his elbow before clenching his fist and laying bare his own forearm, the neat block letters inked out in deep blue.
Took you long enough.
Stiles blinked, looked between the man and his wife, the Alpha who's eyes had gone a little soft around the edges as she trailed her gaze slowly over her husband's face.
Well hell.
XXX
Watching Peter stalk off toward his apartment hadn't done much to quell Calvin's irritation with his younger brother. He could be an utter ass when he wanted to, and it was clear that this was going to be one of those times. His vulgar comments about Luca were a good indication of that - every pack member old enough to know what sex was knew that the visiting ambassador from the Ohio pack was just a convenient bed partner to Peter - he was barely tolerated otherwise. Cursing under his breath, he flipped the bird at Peter's retreating form and spun on his heel, marching back toward the house.
Bond mate, fuck!
At least it explained the tickles of intrigue Calvin had felt toward the young man, the strangely intense interest for a boy too young for him who'd come crashing into their lives with all the grace and subtlety of a rampaging elephant. Their mother had always said Peter and Calvin should have been born twins - they were far too alike for their own good. You wouldn't think it to look at them, but stick them under the moon together and they'd been known to paint the woods red.
Shaking his head to rid himself of the sudden dark, animalistic thoughts whispering in his ears, he leapt lightly up the porch steps and let himself into the house, walking down to the library where his Alpha waited. Stiles was sitting shirtless in the nasty little chair Talia used when chastising the pups, pale and wide eyed with thin, watery blood dried around the corners of his mouth, but his brother's handprint had been washed from the boy's throat and that calmed him a little.
Heedless of the three law enforcement officers bracketing the boy, he strode up in front of him and grabbed him by the chin, tilting his head to examine the unbroken skin of his neck and shoulder, satisfying himself that Peter hadn't shredded his skin as well as his shirt. The sneer and snarl he'd gotten in return had made him grin - the kid had a little bite in him, that was clear enough. His sister had snapped at him, rightly enough he supposed, but he didn't give her any more of a report on Peter than to shake his head. Once she'd gotten her own satisfaction that the boy was indeed soul bonded to their recalcitrant baby brother - though really, that much was pretty damned obvious - the conversation turned to other things and all he could do was sit back quietly and listen, watch Stiles and ignore the way his hackles wouldn't lie down.
He noticed the way the boy shivered, the way he hunched his shoulders, and he could only guess how vulnerable the kid felt half naked under all their eyes. A gesture and a few quiet words had Nicky ducking outside, running down to the apartment they shared and returning with one of his own flannel shirts for the kid, but the hard look the younger man shot him suggested trouble, and then he was gone again before Calvin could even quirk an eyebrow.
That was… concerning.
It wasn't that he didn't trust Nicky, or that he didn't think the kid could take care of himself, but he could just imagine the kind of crap already brewing outside among the rest of the pack, the rumors already running rampant after Luca had run off squeaking and Peter had followed in a snarling, furious sulk. Toss in the fact that their borders had been crossed twice in as many days and the local Sheriff was on the grounds and you had a pretty good recipe for a quickly approaching disaster. He should be out there, doing damage control or at least directing traffic…
But Talia was in the middle of trying to explain what a soul bond was and Stiles was starting to panic and then David shocked the hell out of him by rolling up his sleeve and tilting his forearm toward the light, showing off Talia's smart-mouthed first words to her husband so many years ago.
It wasn't a secret, not exactly. Talia's family knew, most of the pack, but a bond mark was a little bit sacred, a little bit intimate, and David was rarely open with his. Sparing a calculating glance for his Alpha, who was looking a little quiet and fond but not at all upset by the display, Calvin scented the air, searched for any distress on behalf of his brother in law. He needn't have worried - the man was all butter and sugar and vanilla, the fading scent of sugar cookies that you got a lot from new parents, the scent of someone wanting to reassure, to calm or care for.
The kid seemed pretty good at getting that response from people.
It wasn't going to help him at all with Peter.
