Despite his worries over it being a full moon that night, Stiles did alright throughout the following day. He didn't sprout fangs, fur or even an ugly, feral manicure. He slept until noon, ate a breakfast/lunch of scrambled eggs and toast, dithered around his apartment putting away anything he didn't want to accidently break in the case he turned into a werewolf that night, and, finally, leisurely got ready for work. He felt pretty much himself for most of the day, but under his skin there was a itchy, buzzing feeling that grew as the night drew closer. It didn't bother him that much, was just a steady irritant at the back of his mind.

Work was the same as it always was. He arrived on time, said 'hey' to the person who worked the shift before his on their way out (Jared this time, Abby had the day off), put on his red apron, and stepped out onto the floor to start his shift. Dawn wasn't talkative, just did her time and got the hell out of dodge promptly at 9 PM. Then it was just Stiles and his so-far-hypothetical wolf. Only three customers came in between 9 PM and 1 AM which wasn't unusual. Again, it had Stiles wondering how the owner even afforded to keep the damn place open so late.

"It doesn't make any sense," Stiles muttered to himself as he cashed out the register. He quickly counted out the coins and dollar bills, writing down the tally on a small piece of paper after each type. It was one upside to the remains of his childhood ADD and his natural ability with math, multitasking came easily. "The moonrise was at 11:32 tonight," he continued to tell himself, "so, at 1:10 I should be well into feeling the need to shift."

Was it all a dream before? The shift, the fur, the claws? Had that been part of the dream? He'd never had a dream so vivid he was actually confused between dream and reality before. Was it even possible? Was that weird buzzing under his skin all night just excitement in anticipation over something he had convinced himself would happen?

Stiles finished up at work, hung his apron on his peg in the back, grabbed his bag and headed home. He almost felt a little disappointed that he wasn't actually a werewolf. Sure, it probably messed with a person's lifestyle quite a bit and there was sure to be a few other downsides, too, but the idea of being a lycanthropic creature of the night had been sounding more and more awesome over the past few days. URGH, plus there was the embarrassment of having to admit to Peter that he was just an idiotic lunatic. He didn't necessarily have to admit it to Peter. They had gone for a year never speaking to each other, they could just go back to that. He didn't need to talk to him again besides a random "hey" in the hall, right? Totally… or, maybe Stiles should start looking in the rental ads in the newspaper and find a new place to live.

He set out down the gravel road in the dark, dodging potholes by memory and not by sight, just like every night. Just like the night.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled and stood on end and goose bumps rose up his arms. Stiles stopped short, his breath coming in pants though he wasn't out of breath. He could feel someone's presence. He could feel someone powerful. There was a weird tightness in his chest and an urge to submit in his entire being. He shivered and hunched in on himself. The air felt suddenly too thin and too heavy all at once. Stiles looked around wildly. He half-expected the stupid, rabid dog to jump out at him again. There was nothing -no sounds of movement, nothing.

...and yet, Stiles was certain there was someone.

That was when a breeze picked up, rustling leaves and even pushing apart the clouds above. It was spectacular in a way that wasn't completely natural. The clouds drew apart almost purposely to reveal a glowing light in the sky above him. The full moon. It was bright and huge and so much larger of a presence than Stiles ever remembered it being.

A howl rose in the distance causing Stiles to shiver, again. It didn't truly sound like a wolf, but it sounded familiar. It sounded like it was for him. It was pulling him, calling him, urging him to obey. Stiles panicked. He ran home.

He made it in record time, quickly producing his keys from his pocket at the ground floor door like a magician. He ripped open the door and fled into the building, his entire body feeling on fire with desire to turn around and follow the howling call. He ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

"Peter!" he exclaimed when he burst out of the stairwell into his hall. He ran to Peter's door and banged on it. "Peter! Peter, c'mon, Peter!"

When Peter did finally open the door, Stiles nearly fell flat on his face on Peter's floor. Peter raised an eyebrow and took a step to the side to allow Stiles to right himself on his own.

"Peter!" cried out Stiles, again, grabbing the guy's arm and pulling him out of his apartment into the hall. "I need your help!"

"Uhh…" stammered Peter, having enough wherewithal to pull his arm from Stiles' grasp, but still looking slightly dazed.

Stiles leapt across the hall to his apartment door, digging in his pockets for his keys. He reached back to grab Peter's shirt once he had opened his door. He pulled Peter in after him. Stiles let the door slam shut behind them and spun Peter and himself around so they were facing each other. Peter was in his silk pajamas and that same thin, white shirt he had worn during their last nighttime encounter. Stiles was too busy trying to catch his breath and stay upright from the dizzying need to shift to truly appreciate how Peter looked -sleep ruffled and dazed.

"I need your help," Stiles said, again. "You've gotta stay here with me tonight, okay?"

"Not a generally accepted method of asking for sex, but…" said Peter wryly, purposely trailing off and shrugging. The innuendo was heavy and the way he had trailed off made it sound like he was almost willing. It was as if he would 'take one for the team' because he was in a generous mood. Belittling and sexy all at once… just how Stiles should have expected Peter to respond to such an offer.

"Oh. My. G- not like that!" exclaimed Stiles, before the possibility could truly fill him with hope. "Now shut up, don't be such a distraction!

"Distraction from what?" asked Peter, cocking his head to the side inquisitively.

"Right, yeah, yeah," said Stiles, nodding. "Okay, first I need to read up on the alpha's call. I'm sure I saw that somewhere when I was doing my initial research."

Stiles turned to rush out of the room, but stopped and spun around.

"Do not, under any circumstances, leave… uh, please?" he commanded of Peter. "Just, uh, just make yourself comfortable or something. I dunno, sit on the couch, make a coffee, whatever."

Then he rushed to the second bedroom of his apartment where he kept his computer and his growing library of books on so many random topics it would make a person's head spin. He pulled a few books off the shelf after dumping his bag on the computer chair, then hurried back out to the living room to make sure Peter was still there.

"Okay," he said when he saw Peter was standing across the room looking at the few framed photographs Stiles bothered to put up. "So, I know I saw it in one of these books. But, on the night of a newly bitten werewolf's first shift, his alpha calls him."

Stiles plopped down on the couch and pulled the coffee table closer so he could lay all the books out in front of him. Peter slowly walked across the room and sat down next to him.

"Werewolves again?" he asked, but he sounded a lot less judgemental than Stiles would have expected.

"I heard it," said Stiles, looking up from the book he was quickly flipping through.

"Heard what?"

"I heard The Call. On the way home from work, I heard it. I could feel it in my bones, it was calling me."

"That… seems a little… insane."

"I know how it must sound, but I was walking home, I heard the howl, and everything inside of me wanted to run to it," said Stiles before licking his finger and thumb so he could page more effectively through the next book. "It was terrifying," he added quietly.

The room went silent for a few beats. Stiles almost looked up from his book to check Peter's face, but it was then that Peter finally spoke.

"Okay," agreed Peter, softly. He scooted a bit closer to Stiles on the couch and looked over his shoulder at the book. "So where do I come into this?"

Stiles could have cried in relief.

"I need you to keep me from… answering the call," said Stiles.

He did look up from his book, then, but only to give Peter a grave look. Peter held Stiles' gaze for a few beats before finally nodding.

"Okay," he said, again.

"Yeah?" asked Stiles, his heart feeling as if it was beating double. Peter was so close and he was looking at Stiles so openly, so sincerely. It had been so long since Stiles felt like he had someone in his corner.

"Yeah," said Peter. "I'm not saying I believe this whole werewolf thing, but, either way, you obviously need someone here tonight, so… yeah. I'll stay."

Stiles let out a deep breath and gave Peter a small smile.

"Thanks," he said. "I know this sounds insane and you barely know me, but.. thanks."

Peter smiled slightly, just one corner of his mouth moving upward into a crooked smile. He looked almost fond and Stiles had to tap down the weird butterfly swooping motion it gave him in his stomach.

"Alright, so get back to the books," said Peter, turning their attentions back to the ones Stiles had laid out on the coffee table. "I need to learn about this Alpha Call thing you're talking about."

Stiles was sweating.

Peter had fallen asleep on his couch twenty minutes earlier. Dawn was only about an hour away, but it had thus far been the longest night of Stiles' life and that didn't look to be changing within the hour. The alpha had called him two more times since he had strong-armed Peter into staying in his apartment with him. Each time was increasingly stressful.

The idea of being a werewolf had actually appealed to him. Really, anything that would change him from what and where he was sounded appealing. But, pacing his living room as nausea gripped his stomach, fear the rest of his insides, and a strange thrumming energy his limbs, Stiles wasn't so sure about the whole werewolf thing anymore. Well, he was never sure about it, but it was definitely seeming more and more of a curse than a gift, the more he learned about it.

He glanced over at Peter every so often as he paced. He wanted to wake him, but he didn't know what the point would be. What could Peter actually do to help him? Did he really want Peter to sit and watch as he continued to pace and use panic attack coping techniques to keep the monster at bay? He was grateful Peter had agreed to stay, he was glad he wasn't doing this in his apartment all alone. Still, the issue was inside of him and, really, he was alone in his struggle… whether Peter was awake or gone altogether.

Did he really want the guy to see him like that, anyway? He barely knew him. They really weren't anything to each other besides neighbours in an apartment building.

And yet, Peter was the closest… anything, Stiles currently had.

How sad was that?

Stiles stopped pacing and turned to regard Peter fully. Stiles was still sweating, his heart still hammering, his stomach still in knots, and his body still thrumming with the shift, but he managed to stay still and watched Peter's sleeping face for a few moments. Who was this man laying crookedly on Stiles' couch, with his celebrity-good-looks and predator eyes? Why had he taken Stiles in that night a month ago? Why was he here in Stiles apartment this night?

It was then that the alpha's call sounded once more. Stiles fell to his knees at its intensity. He let out a high pitched whine and covered his head with his arms. He needed to shift. He felt like he would die if he didn't shift. If he shifted at the alpha's call, though, he was certain he would lose himself to the alpha. He wasn't even sure what it would mean, but he was hella sure he didn't want to go there. He pushed back at the need to shift. He forced himself to stay human without even understanding how or, in his currently crazed mind, why. The effort it took made him shake and whimper. He felt like he was trapped in a haze of torture.

Suddenly, a hand touched his arm. It was cool against his feverish skin. Stiles shuddered back momentarily before blinking a few times to clear his vision and looking up from behind his arms. Peter was crouched next to him, obviously having been awoken by Stiles' fit.

"Stiles," spoke Peter, his voice low and soothing, but with a command to it that somehow managed to rival the remnants of the alpha's most recent call. "Stiles look at me."

Stiles straightened slightly from where he had been curled in on himself, still on his knees. Peter took Stiles' hand in his own, his grip at once firm and gentle. Stiles felt himself wanting to melt into him, to have the comfort of his presence engulf him. Instead, he let out another whimper. Peter touched his face with the hand not being nearly crushed in Stiles' panicked, vice-like grip. Stiles closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. Peter's touch was quieting enough for him to remember his breathing exercises and other coping mechanisms he'd be utilizing like the lifeline they were only minutes before.

"You're okay, Stiles," spoke Peter. "It's almost morning."

He wasn't okay. Maybe, though, he could take solace in it being almost morning and, hopefully, with it would come a release from the alpha's grip on his sanity. Morning wouldn't be his savior when it came to everything else, though. He was alone, he was expendable, and he was so damn desperate that he had initially been happy to learn he might be a werewolf.

Stiles couldn't take it anymore, he pressed into Peter seeking the comfort his presence seemed to promise. Peter froze momentarily, but Stiles was too far gone for pride. He nuzzled his face into Peter's chest, folding himself up so as to fit as tightly against him as possible. It took a few beats, but Peter did wrap his arms around him. Stiles felt tears rolling freely from his own eyes at being held. In that moment, it wasn't just the alpha werewolf, it was everything. Finally, finally; human touch. Finally someone cared. Finally.

He tried to stay quiet, then, but his shoulders were shaking with sobs. He let it out before it exploded from him in some uncontrollable way. He pressed against Peter with such force that they almost toppled over backwards together, but Peter held him and shushed him softly as he cried. So, it wasn't his most shining moment of masculinity, but Stiles couldn't regret it then. He cried until his tears had dried up and his throat was hoarse from the low sobs and nearly-silent whimpers no one, but Peter, would ever hear. Peter, the stranger, who, for seemingly no reason, kept letting him in.

When the sun finally broke over the horizon and turned the living room a slight shade of pink, Stiles knew exhaustion deep in his bones. Peter had shifted them so he was leaning back against the couch and Stiles fell asleep with his head in Peter's lap and Peter's hand in his hair.

When he woke hours later, Peter was gone and there was a pillow under his head and a blanket over his body. Stiles didn't know how he felt about any of it.