"So, um..." Stiles began hesitantly after Peter's disappeared and he feels like he can breathe again, after Calvin's picked himself back up off the floor. "Cora's your sister right?"

"Youngest of two," Nick nodded, but the smile he shoots him is hesitant and doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Me, I'm the middle child. Brother and a sister on either side."

Pausing, he huffs a silent, melancholy laugh before he tilts in his seat and digs a wallet out of his back pocket. His movements are sharp and jerky as he flips the leather open, the least graceful thing Stiles has seen of the werewolves since he's got here, and suddenly the air in the sunny, open kitchen is thick and heavy and there's a chill on the back of his neck. Calvin's gone still, all the mirth gone from his face as he watches his nephew with a wary eye, but Nick's to busy staring at the photo he's carefully drawn out to notice.

There's something painful in the silence that's fallen so fast and absolute while he traces the photo with his fingertips, but then he clears his throat and passes it over, speaks in a voice that's gone gruff and harsh when Stiles accepts.

"Seth was the oldest," he says, words short and sharp as Stiles holds the battered family photo reverently. It's battered and creased and worn soft at the edges from how much it's been handled, but he can still see the resemblance between the four oldest Hales, years younger than Stiles will ever known them.

"Laura came next," Nick continues, "Then me, then Derek. Cora didn't come till after; she'll turn six in a few months."

Stiles doesn't speak - it doesn't feel right to - and he tries like hell not to do that math in his head. Instead he hands the picture back, watches Nick take one more look before returning it to its place in his wallet. Calvin crosses around behind Stiles without a word and wraps his hand tight around Nick's neck and he seems to take comfort from the gesture, even though Calvin's knuckles are white he's grown his claws, the tips pressing deep into the younger man's skin.

Stiles licks his lips, swallows.

He hadn't mean to bring up... this when he'd asked about Cora, he just...

Shit, he'd just wanted to know who it was that Peter was actually willing to seek out, who he was actually willing to look for. It was curiosity and sick, awful jealousy that he wasn't sure was his and he didn't understand it but he'd needed to know and he'd asked before he thought better of it.

Now as he watches Nick clear his throat and duck out of his uncle's grasp, walk to the sink to pour himself a glass of water, he feels like he should apologize but he doesn't know how. Once he's downed half the gla though the guy shrugs and throws him a smile that's even cheaper and more plastic than the first, but Stiles sure as hell isn't going to call him on it.

"After," he tries again, staring into the glass, "After what happened..."

Calvin clears his throat, his good eye bright gold and Nick blushes, thoroughly chastised.

Stiles frowns, his chest suddenly tight and heavy knowing that something's being kept from him.

"After what happened Peter took a shine to Cora," Calvin explains, taking a seat at the table. "She was... kind of a surprise, for everybody involved, but she's had him wrapped around her little finger from day one."

"Really?"

It's Stiles turn to blush when the two Hales turn on him with unreadable expressions, shocked somehow by Stiles' disbelief. It wasn't meant to be rude or cruel, he just... he couldn't see it. He'd almost been angry, just a little at the thought that Peter was headed off to find some woman he hadn't even met yet, which was stupid and ridiculous and didn't make sense, but knowing that Cora was a little five year old girl...

It just didn't fit.

Peter was... loud and rough and aggressive, and just... not that guy.

"He's her godfather you know," Nick says off-handedly, pulling Stiles out of his spinning thoughts. "Didn't even ask my parents, just forged their signatures and filed the paperwork three days after she was born. They didn't even find out until she was like, two and a half."

"Well that sounds more like him," Stiles mutters, then kicks himself because duh, werewolves.

Calvin's snickering and Nick's grinning, still kind of sad, but it's better, at least a little bit. Hell, this hadn't even been on Stiles' radar when he'd come over today.

"Anyway, she's always been his favorite," he says, shrugging off the melancholy with a brusqueness that's unsettling in it's sudden and contrary appearance.

Stiles almost admires it.

For his part Calvin laughs, loud and more like him, helping to dissipate the discomfort and the awkwardness as he slings an arm around Nick's neck and drags him in close, scrubbing his hand over the guy's messy blonde hair.

"And you're mine," he says fondly, "And Laura's your dad's and Derek's your mom's. So it all works out."

Stiles grins, chuckles as Nick slaps his uncle away and stands up, straightens his shirt even as he casts him a glare.

"Laugh it up new blood," he says, and his teeth are showing sharp through his grin and it's teasing but there's an edge of wicked warning there too. "But I'm not the one with teeth on my shoulder."

Stiles gulps, trills his fingers along the table top nervously.

"Eh, don't worry about it kid," Calvin smiles, getting to his feet and dusting his hands off on the thighs of his jeans. "My brother's bark is worse than his bite."

Stiles barks a laugh so hard and sharp he chokes on it.

"Yeah right," he scoffs, and Nick and Calvin share a grin that says they're having a joke at his expense. "Somehow I doubt that."

"Well, we'll see. Listen Nicky, you're mom's got some work for me – show the kid around a little huh? Should be done in an hour or two."

"Sure thing Uncle Vin."

It's strange, being abruptly alone with Nick when Calvin steps out of the room. So far the guy's been cool, seems calm and laid-back compared to the other Hales – except maybe for David, who looks like armageddon wouldn't ruffle him. It's not that he makes Stiles nervous exactly, it's just... odd.

The whole thing's odd.

It's the first day Stiles is here in the Preserve with no particular purpose behind his visit, the first time he's come just to spend some time there, holding up his part of the agreement to slowly become a part of the Hale pack and maintain the... thing he and Peter have going on. It's only been a few days but he already feels a little logey, a little tired, nauseous, hungry...

Doesn't mean he actually wants to see Peter, to hang around him, but just stepping foot into Hale territory he feels better.

Hates himself for it, but he feels better.

Then Peter'd actually showed up in the kitchen, looking like shit himself, and damn but that had been satisfying.

He didn't know if he was relieved or pissed when the man refused to look at him, disappearing again without a glance or a word in his direction.

"Wanna see the house?" Nick asks, and he feels himself get up and follow him out the back door without actually acknowledging the question.

Still, seems like he should say something - they guy did just share something pretty deep with him despite the fact that he's practically a stranger, and Stiles remembers with a pang of guilt the way Derek always seems to be waiting for him to mess up, to say something or do something cruel of accusatory.

"Calvin said you live with him?"

"Yeah, for a few years," Nick shrugs, subtlely guiding him across the grass to the boxy little house Calvin had pointed out during Stiles' earlier visit. The front door's unlocked and he hops the porch steps in one go, holding the screen for Stiles to duck past.

It's cool inside, an air conditioner humming somewhere deep in the house, but the first floor is open and bright, large glass windows making up more of the walls than the walls did. Stiles finds himself standing in a little corner entryway, kicks his shoes off before following Nick further inside. The guy points out the kitchen and the attached breakfast nook, rounds the only wall to show off an impressive living room stuffed full of couches and fluffy armchairs, all grouped around a massive flat screen and approximately five different gaming systems. It's crowded and lived in, dishes in the sink and beer bottles on the counter, dvds and magazines on the coffee table, and Stiles finds himself feeling oddly at home in this place.

"There's a bathroom down the hall and one more up here," Nick says, starting to climb. "Second floor's the two bedrooms and Uncle Nick's office. "Fair warning – stay out of there. He hates paperwork and it shows."

Pushing open the first door off the stairs, he laughs when Stiles peers inside and nearly misplaces his eyebrows they climb so high at the mess.

"Right?" he chuckles, pulling the door closed again. "He claims it's controlled chaos, organized disaster – says he knows where everything is. Me, I think he's full of shit, but it keeps my mom off his tail."

"What's it like anyway?" Stiles asks suddenly as they turn to climb the next flight of stairs. Nick pauses, turns to lift an eyebrow of his own and Stiles feels his cheeks burn.

He hadn't meant to ask this either.

"Being a werewolf I mean," he clarifies, and oh god, that sounds even worse. "Shit dude, I didn't mean it like that."

He doesn't know how to feel when a wide, sunny smile cracks across the guy's face and he barks the most honest laugh Stiles has heard out of him so far.

"Didn't know I was passing so well," he says with a grin, starting to climb again. "Just as human as you man. Always have been, probably always will be."

"Seriously?" Stiles asks, surprised and strangely excited. "I didn't know that was a thing."

"Sure," Nick shrugged. "Not super common, but there's always a chance two werewolves could have a human child. One out of five's pretty close to average."

"Cora's a werewolf too then?"

"Yup. Hasn't quite got her shift down yet, but that's pretty common too. She'll have it squared by the time she's seven or eight."

Finally at the top of the stairs, he steps aside and gestures Stiles in front of him, into a wide, empty that took up the entirety of the top floor. He could feel his breath catch in his chest a the sight of it – it's a gorgeous space, nearly all windows and skylights, the afternoon sun pouring in warm and golden across dark, hardwood floors and the bright green of the woods pressing in along the back and sides of the room through the glass. The loft clears half of the house, open to the living room below, the ceiling high and vaulted, and it's more than he deserves.

"You really didn't have to do this," he mumbles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't..."

"Everybody gets a place," Nick says firmly, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "That's what it's like Stiles. Being a werewolf, even if you're not, that's what it's about. Pack, the collective. Here or not, like it or hate it, you're my uncle's soul bonded."

Pausing, he looks Stiles up and down, must be watching him for a reaction.

"I know you haven't figured out what that's gonna mean for you yet," he says slowly. "Either of you. But it doesn't matter ok? You're pack now; me, Laura, Uncle Vin..."

He trails off, looks away out the windows toward the valley where his family's homes range out across the clearing and Stiles can feel the weight of what he's trying to say, knows he'll never really understand this guy, can't understand.

"I get it," he says quietly, but Nick laughs and he'd back to that half-hearted sound that's starting to break Stiles heart with how casually it comes out of the guy's mouth.

"No you don't," he argues. "But you will. Before it's done... you'll get it."

XXX

He's quieter after that, withdrawn. He apologizes by rote for the fact that there's no furniture in the loft yet, that there's still some stuff stored up there. Stiles wanders around into the corners, reaches out to touch some of the sheeted pictures against the wall and finds out that they're canvases, paintings. Apparently the loft used to be the guy's studio and Stiles feels ten times worse for taking the space than he did before, but the guy just shrugged him off, said he doesn't use it anymore.

Doesn't make sense though.

When Stiles touches the paintings, pulls them out from the wall to look he gets almost nervous, steps up to his side silently and unseen and he almost calls him on not being a werewolf. He takes the paintings gently, sets them back against the wall before he can get a better look at the dark colors, the slashes of blacks and blues and purples and the pale, ethereal glow of a silver-grey moon. He promises to get them moved and out of the way before Stiles comes back, whenever that will be, and then promptly shuts up about it.

After trudging back down the stairs Stiles follows his lead and they flop into opposite corners of the couches, turn on a baseball game. It's a rerun but Nick's rooting for the Mets, at least over the Phillies anyway, so that's all right. It's a little uncomfortable – the guy's mind is obviously somewhere else, but Stiles tries to leave him to it. When his stomach starts to growl loud enough for moth of them to here, he shoves him lightly out the door and points him back at the main house before disappearing back inside.

Stiles can't really blame him but damn if he isn't a little resentful. He feels like he's navigating a minefield here and it sucks, and no, he's not exactly friends with anyone here, not even Nick or Calvin, not yet, but he's not exactly comfortable wandering around alone either. His dad would be pissed if he found out – he hadn't wanted Stiles coming over here at all. He'd made him promise to stick with Talia or Calvin, Laura if he had to, and now here he was with his hands shoved in his pockets as he stomped across the grass, shoulders thrown back like a challenge.

Stupid, especially since he's pretty sure that Luca guy's dumb enough to come after him again, but he just keeps reminding himself that he's got a hidden talisman under his shirt, an ace up his sleeve, and he feels a little better.

The kitchen's empty and he's grateful for it. Means he can take a minute to catch his breath, to try to settle... whatever this is. Hell, he feels like he's on a roller coaster and he hasn't even seen his soul bonded but for a second.

Peter he's kind of counted on to be an emotional shit-storm, his family not so much. The guy's got history a mile long and enough baggage to shut down O'Hare, any idiot could see that, but here Stiles is waltzing around thinking avoidance is a solid line of defense.

Maybe he is an idiot...

A giggle and the unmistakable thump, thump, thump of kid feet stop that train of thought and thankfully cut off what feels like the beginning of another panic attack, and then suddenly there's a little girl skidding a stop on bare feet just inside the kitchen door, staring at him with huge, wary eyes and looking so much like Derek and Laura both that she can't be anyone but their baby sister. She's the cutest thing he thinks he's ever seen, tiny and pink cheeked, dark hair curling around her ears, yellow sundress grass-stained at the knees and toes dark with mud, and she's glaring at him with all the defiance a five-year-old can manage.

"Hi," he says carefully, curling his fingers in a wave as she edges sideways toward the fridge.

Frowning, she turns away from him and tugs the door open, bends down to open a crisper drawer at the bottom.

"Oh, so you're gonna ignore me now too?" He asks of the little girl's back, a sudden flash of irritability and stupid, stupid disappointment making him bitter. Guess she was her uncle's favorite. "Nah, don't worry about it, it's cool. Everybody else is being weird, why not..."

"She's deaf you ass."