A/N: Wow, I realize it's been almost a month, but it was my 29th birthday, followed by tons of other busy times, including Chicago Comic Con where I manned a table for the publishing company I work with. I sold several copies of my book Incubus, and my novelette The Collector, and had a blast, but didn't have much time for writing. Things should be easier from here on out though, promise.

Enjoy! And thank you all so far for so many wonderful review!

Once More with Feeling – Part 2 of the With Feeling series

Chapter 4: Peter

"Mmm…don't let me interrupt," Peter purred from the doorway. "I'll just wait here."

Ice shot through Stiles' veins down to his toes. His eyes widened, staring up at Derek in complete and utter horror.

Derek's eyes narrowed and flashed red. He then literally leapt from the bed—one moment he was hovering over Stiles, the next he was standing, still naked, in front of the chest. Somehow, in his inhuman flurry of movement, he swept the covers back from the foot of the bed to cover Stiles. Stiles clung to them gratefully.

He got a clear view of Peter in the train car doorway now that Derek was no longer on top of him, and the second Peter's sharp blue eyes landed on his lewdly sprawled body on top of the mattress—covered or otherwise—Stiles nearly yelped and pulled the covers around him tighter.

Peter grinned slowly. "I thought you had more self-restraint than to pluck out one of the underage members of your pack—then again, they're all underage, aren't they? And I do understand the appeal of Mr. Stillinski."

Stiles glared even as he shivered under Peter's scrutiny. He felt so exposed with the way Peter looked at him. It was the same way he had looked at him the night he offered him the Bite—like Stiles was something to be devoured.

A low growl rumbled through the train car.

"Now, now, nephew, how was I to know what I'd walk in on?" Peter said with hands raised. "I've simply returned from my mission and thought to check in where I knew I'd find you." He glanced down Derek's body and then raised an eyebrow. "And what a way to find you."

Stiles half expected Derek to launch himself at Peter's throat, maybe see if killing him a second time would do the trick, but Derek didn't move. He moved eventually, but only a few steps toward the corner where he retrieved a towel that he wrapped around his waist. He grabbed another towel and returned to the bed.

Stiles stared at Derek as he approached, wondering why his would-be hero wasn't being all that heroic anymore since the initial leap into action from the bed. "Hey…Derek," Stiles finally prompted, scooting to the end of the bed, wrapped up tight in the sheets. He reached out and touched his fingertips to Derek's wrist.

Derek took a breath, like Stiles had shaken him from a trance. The look of faded anger and regret was an awful shock to Stiles' system, and reminded him only too unfairly of how Derek had looked that day in the woods when he first became his older self again. Stiles knew those warring, pained emotions weren't for him, though, or what they had done. They were all for Peter.

Stiles climbed off the bed to stand next to Derek and looked at Peter defiantly. Peter's grin had faded, his brow furrowed now as he stared back at them, recognizing Derek's expression and how his barbs hadn't garnered the reaction he'd expected.

Derek handed the extra towel to Stiles. "Can you…clean up in the bathroom?" he asked, his tone stiff but not harsh.

Stiles wanted to be angry—with Peter for ruining their afterglow, not with Derek—but he understood, well, as much as he could understand why Derek needed a minute alone with his uncle. Stiles had known their reunion would be complicated, he'd just hoped it would happen in broad daylight, and not immediately following their first round of sex in over a week.

Stiles accepted the towel, snatched up his discarded clothes from the floor, and kept the sheets tight around him as he moved past Peter for the door. Just as he stepped around the older wolf, Peter leaned in and took a long sniff at his neck. Stiles wanted to whirl around and punch the asshole, but when he flicked his gaze to Peter with a ready glare, he didn't find smugness or a leering smile; Peter looked confused—shocked.

"This isn't just fun and games…" Peter spoke plainly. "You're…mated." There was no tease to those words either, only a sort of quiet amazement.

Stiles swallowed thickly, not really answering as he excused himself to get some actual clothes on. The bathroom was on the far side of the den, a public bathroom once upon a time with several stalls and a shower in the back. He was pleased to find that Derek had given that a good cleaning too, though it had always been one of the nicer areas of the place, since the girls had demanded it be sanitary once they were all using it on a regular basis.

A long hot shower would have felt nice, but Stiles was too anxious to get back out there, even if Derek wanted privacy. He used the shower to rinse off quick, then toweled down, dressed, dug his fingers through his hair which was starting to get long enough to actually look messy, and took a deep breath.

Now that he'd had time to come down from the adrenaline rush of sex, and then of being so rudely interrupted, he felt how sore he actually was. Nothing bad or truly painful, just a dull ache. He wanted to enjoy the ache, but damn Peter for having to ruin everything.

Impatiently, Stiles left the bathroom, carrying his soiled towel. He set it down on the floor outside the train car and sat on the steps, straining his ears to hear what Derek and Peter were talking about. Their voices were hushed, but Stiles could still make out the conversation. Derek had just finished explaining the events with the witch, being sixteen again, and how he and Stiles had ended the whole mess…together.

"I remember two separate lives," Derek said. "One the way it always was…Kate, the fire, all the things you did this past year…and another with Stiles, where none of those awful things happened until I woke up and had to remember them again."

Stiles felt that same ice-in-his-veins sensation wash through him as he sat there, listening. He could hear Peter breathing, knew he was in there, but he didn't say a word.

"Do you remember back then how I used to…crawl into your bed when I was scared? Even when I was too old for nightmares, I always went to you. Mom and Dad would have told me to stay strong, made me sleep alone and face my fears, but you indulged me every time. You always let me in."

A small hum came from Peter—no more than that—as affirmation that he remembered.

"Did you know I did the same thing after the fire? Every day, every night, for as long as I could…I'd curl in beside you. The nurses kicked me out a few times, said you were too hurt, had too many open wounds for that kind of contact, but I knew…I believed that if I could just curb the pain a little, take it away and into me instead, you'd wake up. I was furious with Laura when she said we were leaving. How could we leave? How could we leave you like that? But she said we had to. That it would be worse for you if we moved you, and that we couldn't stay, not when the hunters were still out there looking for us.

"I knew it was my fault. I knew it was because of Kate. I knew…the reason you wouldn't wake up was because of me."

"Derek…"

Stiles stifled a gasp. He'd never heard Peter sound soft and mournful, like he cared, really cared.

"I thought…" Derek went on, "if only you'd wake up…everything would be okay."

Stiles waited for Derek to say more, for Peter to comment, maybe even deny it all or act like a smug asshole again and tease Derek for his sentimentality. But nothing happened. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved. At least not that Stiles could hear.

Then Peter said something, but it was too soft for Stiles to catch the words. He leaned his head back, hoping to hear more, but suddenly Peter was in the doorway coming down the steps.

Stiles scrambled out of the way, nearly tripping over his own feet. He couldn't not stare at Peter, especially after Peter turned to him, looked at him, not seeming like Peter at all. Not the one Stiles knew. The older man seemed shaken. By memories. By Derek.

"I'll see you again. Soon," he said, and while those same words could have easily sounded like a threat coming from Peter a few months ago, now they seemed like some sort of somber promise, like he was truly sorry for leaving and didn't want Stiles to think less of him.

What had Stiles missed?

He was hardly qualified to understand the inner workings of Peter Hale's messed up head, but he definitely felt like he had missed something. Wasn't Peter a borderline sociopath? Didn't they hate and fear the guy? Sure he'd gone after the alphas to protect them all, but Stiles had never really believed it.

"He said he needs some time," came Derek's voice.

Stiles turned sharply to watch Derek descend the small set of stairs out of the train car. "Is he…okay? Are you?"

Derek smiled sadly, looking after his retreating uncle. "I don't know…"

"What about…the alphas?"

"Gone. He convinced them to turn on their leader, told them what idiots they were being when he was obviously only having them kill their packs so he could eventually kill them. The fool actually thought he could become a god. They killed him and went their separate ways."

"And Peter came back."

Derek nodded.

"And that's…good?"

Derek sighed. He didn't have an answer. Rather than try and squeeze one out of him, Stiles opted for silence for a change and reached out to grip Derek's arm. Apology shone in Derek's eyes, but Stiles didn't want an apology. This night was meant to be theirs, and Stiles resented that it had been taken away from them, but it wasn't Derek's fault.

"Wanna take me home? Maybe…stay a while?"

Derek offered another somber smile and nodded.

The drive was quiet but not uncomfortable. Whatever new connection they shared made it impossible for any silence or moment between them to be anything other than at least companionable. Stiles could even feel the constant thrum of emotions raging through Derek—sorrow mostly, and regret, shame, and uncertainty. But beneath it all was still a warm glow of affection and happiness because of Stiles.

Stiles clung to that and vowed to pull those good emotions out of Derek as much as he could. He didn't deserve to wallow.

"Next time we'll stay in my room, some night we know my dad will be out. And we won't let anything interrupt us. But tonight…whatever you need to talk about, seriously, dude…just talk," Stiles said as he dropped back onto his bed and turned toward Derek beside him.

Derek had his head on the pillow, his hands folded neatly over his stomach. He stared at the ceiling and soon began to speak as bidden. Stiles listened. Contrary to what some people might guess of him, seeing as how Stiles was quite a talker, he was also a great listener. He'd been there for Scott so many times, he'd lost count of their midnight conversations and rantings. So it was easy to listen to Derek.

Mostly Derek spoke about Peter, about the old Peter, the one Derek had grown up with and loved. The one who at one point in his life had been Derek's best friend. They were barely ten years apart after all, since Peter was the youngest of the older generation Hales, so they had always had a strong bond. Derek never had a brother, only sisters, so Peter played that role as well. He was brother, uncle, friend, and even sometimes father.

Stiles laughed when Derek related tales of how Peter would get him into trouble, but silly benign trouble that boys were supposed to get into when they were young. And Stiles looked on solemnly, watching for tears, when Derek recalled his worst nights, nights that brought him to his uncle's bedroom to shiver against him beneath the covers.

It was difficult to imagine Peter being like the man Derek described. The mischief was always there, the charm, but he'd changed. The fire made him into a different man. Derek didn't know if the old Peter was still in there. Stiles didn't either. He hoped so for Derek's sake, because despite his own wariness of Peter Hale, and wanting to hate him for so many things, Stiles still understood why Derek wanted the man back. It wasn't only because memories of a loving Peter were fresh for him after what had happened with the witch, but because Peter was family. And you never give up on family.

At some point Stiles fell asleep. His dad was working late, so he only roused when he heard his father checking in on him. Derek was gone then—it was one or two in the morning, so he must have slipped out when Stiles fell asleep—but there was a note beneath Stiles' pillow, a hastily scrawled 'Thank you'.

"Any Saturday plans, kiddo?"

"Nah, just homework. Lazy weekend for me," Stiles said as he flipped the French toast on the pan.

He was in a good mood, despite the somber aspects of the night before, and had used cream in the recipe like his mother used to. His dad was waiting patiently for his helping, with a cup of coffee and the paper. He had the day off.

"You didn't have to wake up so early. I know you got in late," Stiles said.

"And miss French toast?" his dad smiled at him, smelling the air appreciatively. "Hey, maybe we can hit a movie later this afternoon, after you've gotten through some of your homework. I work first shift tomorrow, but we could try for an earlier show and grab dinner after."

Stiles beamed. He hadn't caught a movie with his dad in months. "That sounds awesome. I just have this paper I want to get started on. I'll check times and see what we want to hit."

Stiles finished dishing up their breakfast, handed his dad a plate, then grabbed some orange juice for himself before joining the Sheriff at the table. They ate in relative comfortable silence until Stiles' dad spoke again.

"So…how's Joe? Haven't seen him in a while. You two were joined at the hip when I first met him. Everything okay?"

Stiles faltered with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Yeah, he's just…been busy. I saw him last night after practice before coming home. At his place. His…his uncle's back in town now, so they need some time to catch up."

"Oh, that's good. I still need to talk to him. Not that I'm really worried about permission for Joe staying over those few times, but it's good for me to know your friends' folks."

"Yeah…sure." Stiles nodded at his plate. Maybe instead of working on homework, he needed to sit down and contemplate just how long he could keep the charade up, and how he was going to break the truth to his dad when he finally ran out of excuses.

Thankfully, the doorbell rang and interrupted any further questioning.

"I got it!" Stiles called eagerly, and jumped up from the table. It was probably UPS. He'd ordered a new graphics card for his computer that should be arriving today.

Still mulling things over as he raced to the door, Stiles wondered if he should just say he and Joe broke up and weren't really going to be friends anymore. That would help avoid the 'why haven't I see Joe around' questions. But then his dad would probably want to talk in more detail about why they'd split, which would lead to a more in depth discussion of how they had been together, and while that was an awesome dad thing to do, it was less awesome when Stiles was lying about everything.

Stiles pulled the front door open without much thought, still up in his head. Then he stopped cold, mouth hanging agape.

Peter smiled at him, looking neat and well-groomed with a fresh haircut, trimmed beard, and fancy long black coat. "Hello, Stiles," he said with the usual silk in his voice. "Is your father at home?"

Stiles stood there, still with his mouth hanging open for maybe several seconds too long, since the next thing he heard was, "Stiles?! Who is it?"

Then the Sheriff was coming around the corner toward the door and Stiles had no thoughts in his head, not a single one to solve this or make it go away.

Peter smiled broadly as the Sheriff approached and stretched out his hand in greeting. "Sheriff Stillinski? I'm Peter. I believe our boys have been seeing each other. My apologies for being out of town. I do appreciate you taking my nephew in for a few days so he wouldn't be stuck home alone."

"Ah, you must be Joe's uncle. We were just talking about you," the Sheriff said amiably, accepting and shaking Peter's hand as he came to stand next to Stiles.

Peter glanced at Stiles curiously. "Were you now? Good things, I hope."

Thoughts were still forming in Stiles' head, so he merely blinked back at him.

"Stiles was just mentioning you were back in town and that he saw you and Joe last night. I'm glad to get the chance to meet you in person. We're just finishing up breakfast if you'd like to come in."

Alarm bells went off in Stiles' head. It wasn't as if Peter was a vampire and needed permission to enter the house, but actually inviting him in felt oddly wrong. Still, Stiles found himself stepping back to let Peter enter, just going along with his father's neighborly charm. Not that they were actually neighbors.

"Joe isn't with you?" the Sheriff asked as he led Peter into the living room to have a seat. Stiles trailed behind, using every ounce of sense in him to think of something to say or do—fast—to fix this before it inevitably went in some horribly destructive direction, but after a moment, he found himself sitting beside his dad on the sofa with Peter across from them.

"My nephew was up a little too late last night and needed the extra rest, so I didn't want to wake him," Peter said, probably speaking the truth for once, at least about Derek being back at the den asleep, instead of there where he could offer some assistance. "Stiles was over last night, and his…presence there and the time he's spent with my nephew has made me realize a few things."

What was Peter's angle in all this, Stiles wondered. What was he after? Was he just trying to fuck with him? It was certainly possible. But why? He had seemed so heartfelt and honestly a bit broken after his discussion with Derek last night. Had all that been another act?

Peter sat in the chair across from the sofa leaning forward with his arms resting on his thighs. He wasn't smiling anymore. His expression was pensive, serious. "You see, Sheriff, I've come to realize, after many years of…regrets…that family really is the most important thing, and I'm ashamed to admit that I lost sight of that somewhere."

Stiles' dad nodded patiently, his brow furrowed in that police officer way that said he was trying to listen and size Peter up at the same time. If only he knew that Peter was actually the murderer he'd been after for so long, not that Stiles could really blame Peter. He couldn't think of a single example of the people Peter had killed who didn't deserve what they got. Even the nurse. The only reason Stiles clung to a sense of hatred for the man was because Peter would have been fine murdering Lydia too, if the Bite had killed her. That just wasn't something Stiles could easily forgive.

"My nephew has been very helpful in reminding me of what's important. So has Stiles," Peter continued. "You're very important to Stiles, Sheriff, and I know it's pained him to lie to you all these months. So if he's going to be part of my family now too, I think you deserve the truth."

Shit.

"I'm…not sure I'm following," the Sheriff said, his brow even more tightly knit now. "Aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves? The boys are only sixteen. They've only known each other a few weeks."

Taking on an expression Stiles was more familiar with, Peter grinned. "Actually…that's not entirely accurate."

Work brain! Work! Stiles thought frantically, but he wasn't quick enough. No helpful thoughts surfaced in time for him to intervene before Peter continued.

"Let me tell you a story, Sheriff…" he said, and as he trailed off, his eyes began to glow brilliant, cold blue. He opened his mouth just slightly to reveal lengthening fangs, and as he sat up straight, he held up his hands as if in surrender while they morphed into dangerous claws.

Stiles was stone still.

"Let me tell you about werewolves in Beacon Hills."

TBC...