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Stiles slammed in through the door, eddies of wind kicking up around him as he did. He shut it behind him with a bang, not wanting to let the imminent rain inside.
“I cannot BELIEVE the nerve if that man!” Hands waving, he ranted to the empty entryway. “He calls me out here, specifically citing the wolf moon, and now he says that I need to wait? Ridiculous!”
“I told you so.” Came Lydia's response from another room in the house, missing the usual distortion as the wind currents helped them both. “Deaton is a second rate druid that likes to make excuses while doing the bare minimum. He probably thought that you had the same work ethic.”
“Well, excuse me for enjoying my work.”
“You're excused for that,” Lydia allowed as she came down the stairs, “but not for the mess you just made in my office with your little tantrum.”
Wincing, Stiles attempted to reign in the winds still whipping around him. Static jumping from his fingers to his hair and back again, he quickly braided the worst of the breezes back behind his ear with the ease of long practice. The thin rope braid was secured with one of the many hair ties he wore on his fingers before he gave Lydia weak smile.
The raised brow and pursed lips let him know she wasn’t impressed.
“Don't think I didn't see the forecast change from clear to thunderstorms while you were away.”
“Fair enough.” While Stiles might have better control these days, he couldn't help the way he sometimes unconsciously adjusted the atmosphere to suit his mood. He hadn't intentionally bought the moisture with him to make a thunderstorm. The front was here just because he'd been planning to do a couple of showers while he was here to help a bit with the drought conditions, honest.
It was really all Deaton’s fault that it was now this big storm instead of a couple smaller ones.
“Go fix this. I don't care if you go to the forest and have a good cry or if you go check on your not-boyfriend who just so happens to be in town visiting family.” Lydia held up a finger as Stiles started to sputter. “Ah, ah, ah, no. I just said I don't care. Just get this taken care of before I have to leave for work tomorrow morning.”
He tried protesting unsuccessfully twice more before his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Can I at least grab my jacket?”
Thinking it over for a moment (just to watch him squirm, he was sure) Lydia graciously allowed this concession. He took the stairs two at a time and picked up his raincoat, slipping it on as he heard back down the stairs.
“Here.” A slip of paper was shoved into his hand before his friend led him to the door.
“What's this?” It was an address obviously, but still didn't recognize it.
“It's where the Hales live.”
“What?” Stiles didn't yelp. He wasn’t sure where anyone would have gotten that idea and if Lydia said otherwise she was lying.
“They’re not even a mile away and it's right in the middle of a forest, so even if you don't want to knock you can still let all of this,” she opened the door and gestured to the dark clouds, “out.”
“Yes, mom.”
Lydia's flat look spoke volumes in at least for different languages, one of which might be dead.
“Get out of here before you trap another gust in my house.”
“That was one time! You can't hold things from when I started learning over my head forever.”
“Watch me.” She flashed him a quick smile before shutting the door behind him, the lock audibly engaging a moment later.
Typical Lydia. The thought had him quirking a half smile, though. They'd been friends since both of their lives took a turn for the supernatural in high school. Sometimes he wished they lived a little closer. Then one of them would visit and they’d get like this within twenty four hours.
A glance at the sky confirmed the fact that while he'd calmed a little after talking to Lydia, he wasn't completely in the clear yet. Chuckling at his own pun, he pondered his options in this unfamiliar town before looking at the address in his hand.
Away from prying eyes, possible ally, and recommended by Lydia. The last was both a plus and a minus, but the positives won out. Looks like he had a destination.
Pulling out his phone, he typed in the address.
The walk took three more minutes than the map application predicted, but it was more due to Stiles getting distracted by a couple of windborne conversations on the way there, the last of which actually quickened his pace.
What was someone doing talking about mountain ash circles this close to pack territory?
Stiles got his answer as he turned the final bend in the road only to see the smoke beginning to rise from the house and a blond with a crossbow standing out front.
“The Hale house is on fire.” Wind whipped away the stunned statement as Stiles felt his chill leave him entirely.
Lightning cracked as Stiles stalked towards the woman, winds already swirling around him, whipping both the ends of his braids and hair alike along with the bottom of his coat. He made it over halfway to her and the house before another crack of thunder heralded the beginning of the downpour that had been brewing all day.
The flash of lightning that preceded it had the unfortunate effect of drawing the hunter's attention to him.
“Well, well. What do we have here?” The woman was having to nearly yell to have her taunts heard above the sound of falling rain. “A little weather witch! Come to save the big bad wolves?”
“I came here to let off a little steam,” Stiles let the wind amplify his words so he wasn't screaming. “Thankfully, you've provided a wonderful target for me to vent my frustrations on.”
Frowning, the woman raised her weapon as he reached for one of his braids, showing a more developed intuition than he would have initially guessed. The hair tie was lost to the wind as soon as it came free, but Stiles was more focused on fitting all of the lighting that had previously been contained by it into his hand.
Apparently recognizing the danger, the woman loosed an arrow only to have it blown wildly off course by the wind.
“However, saving the wolves would be a nice bonus though, don’t you think?” Stiles grinned at her increasing panic before hurling the electricity toward her at point blank range.
The bolt may have only been a third as large as most cloud to surface lightning, but with all the water to conduct it, the woman was out for the count, possibly for good. Considering how many wolves she'd been trying to kill (over ten, judging by the number of vehicles alone) that wouldn't be a bad thing.
Stiles hurried forward. The cause of the fire might be gone and the rain was probably helping a bit, but who knew what accelerants the mad woman might have employed. Better to let the wolves out into the rain than leave them trapped in there.
A scuff of his shoe had at least one circle broken, but when no wolves came tumbling out Stiles resigned himself to finding another one.
Firming his stance, Stiles reached for the wind. Pushing it forward, he watched as the doors blew off their hinges. He winced.
“Oops.”
A crash from inside had him shaking off the embarrassment. Counting on the winds to keep him from inhaling too much smoke, Stiles jogged forward towards the noise.
Within the house, he could see that there were definitely some accelerants at work. Much of the living area was at least partially aflame with only the kitchen being fireproofed enough by design to still be safe.
“Oh, man. I hope I live to regret throwing power around.” Stiles held a sleeve over his mouth and concentrated.
The air in the house and flowing in through the front door didn’t know him, not like the friendly breezes that liked to follow him around, so they put up more of a fight as he forced them away from the hotspots. It wasn’t a long process, but it definitely wasn’t as fast as he’d like. It took him almost a full minute to wrestle the winds into a pattern that would draw smoke out without feeding the flames. That wouldn’t save the house in the long run, but hopefully it would slow it long enough for everyone to get out.
Now, he just had to find them. Somehow. Without using the wind to search the house as he normally would.
Great.
Heading to the mostly safe kitchen, Stiles started opening the adjoining doors. He made his way through a pantry, a cleverly disguised fridge (which he left open even though his fingers twitched to close it again. Every little bit would help, but years of conditioning was hard to fight), and a hallway leading to a staircase going up before he heard a muffled shout from behind the island.
There were no doors on that side of the kitchen, just some nice windows to look out at the yard.
Stiles hesitated only a moment before making his way over. It would only take a glance to confirm either way and he was in a burning house, this was no time to just stand around wondering about signs of insanity.
He was right, there weren’t any doors behind the island. There was, however, a cellar hatch hidden under a couple of very out of place stack of food crates. Well, Stiles allowed, it wasn’t the crates that were out of place so much as the clearly visible rocks they were filled with, but that was neither here nor there.
An attempt to lift the top most box had Stiles grunting. It was do-able, but certainly not fast. Setting it back down, he narrowed his eyes at the problem even as he felt someone pounding at the wood beneath his feet.
Werewolves had enough strength to move these and, wouldn’t you know it, there were a couple who were probably giving it their best shot right here. What was keeping one from the other? There wasn’t a visible mountain ash lin-
Wait.
“Shit.” Yes there was. Or, rather, he could see a bit of it trailing out from the edges of the hatch, probably lining the lip it rested on. Impossible to break without lifting the hatch, impossible for the wolves to lift the hatch from the other side. The knocking noises were probably from where they could reach the rough edges of the hatch that sat below the ashen barrier.
Werewolves found. Scratch that one off the list. Now to get them all out. What did he have?
Something crumbled upstairs and the house creaked ominously. Fire, obviously, but that was more The Problem than any help. Rocks aplenty, but Stiles never was very good with earth magic.
On the other hand, he was terribly good with wind and, while he couldn’t summon water from nothing, he was passible when it was in supply.
Plugging the drain and trying the taps, Stiles grinned when the sink started filling.
“Alright! Good, great!” Hands rubbing together as he started to picture exactly what he wanted to do, Stiles knelt beside the hatch. It was probably better to warn them; spooking a cornered were’ was never a great idea.
“Back up! I’m going to try and break the line, but the ash is going to have to go somewhere!”
There was a pause before a single thud responded. Stiles hoped that was them saying okay, because he couldn’t hear shit over the roar of the fire and the downpour still happening outside.
Gestures weren’t entirely necessary when performing magic, but they enforced the brain’s belief which usually made everything more likely to succeed. That was a much better reason to use them than ‘it looks cool’, but Stiles didn’t understand why it couldn’t be both.
Reaching up to the now overflowing sink, he pulled a rope of water down and pointed it at the small crack where he was able to see the edge of the mountain ash. With one hand holding that in place a couple of inches above the floor, he raised his other to pull in a breeze to help. One of his own twisted around his fingers before swirling around the water until it looked like he was holding a very small waterspout.
He took a brief moment to secure his hold on it before slapping his hands on the kitchen tile.
The waterspout followed, just as he needed it to, but it didn’t stop at the floor. Instead, the water flowed through the cracks, dislodging a strip of ash as it went. Unsure of how thick the line was, Stiles kept going until he had drained the sink and was panting from the effort.
He took a deep breath and checked his hold on the winds. Most were still in place, but a few were fighting to get back to the fire.
Unfortunately, Stiles was a little too busy to force the issue, as he was too busy trying to dodge flying rocks after nearly getting decapitated by the cellar hatch as it flew open.
Apparently, two werewolves running at something like full speed can open an extremely heavy hatch real fast. Not that he knew it had taken two of them until the woman - glowing red eyes, shit - the alpha caught him by the throat, lifting him off the ground easily.
His hand almost landed on her wrist before logic stomped down on instinct. Fighting an alpha was never a good idea, but especially so when they were spitting mad and you were trying to save them. Instead, he grimaced a smile and raised both hands to show he meant no harm. The alpha growled incoherently in response and flexed her clawed fingers.
Stiles winced. Not good.
“Stiles?” Looking over at the sound of his name (stupid, don’t look away from the alpha that wants to kill you!), Stiles gave a weak grin. Peter was looking more stunned than he’d ever seen the lawyer, full on jaw dropping, rapid blinking shock. If they survived, Stiles was never going to let his friend live it down.
“Little,” Stiles managed to gasp out, “help?”
That got Peter moving, thankfully. He stepped up to his alpha and attempted to talk her down.
“Talia, this is who I was talking about. He must have been the one to break the line.”
The alpha, Talia it sounded like, loosened her grasp just enough for Stiles to suck in another breath, but it was still difficult to breath when your toes couldn’t touch the floor. Stiles cheated a bit, circulating the oxygen in his lungs with the help of the wind. It didn’t come without cost, however, and he couldn’t hide his wince as a different zephyr leapt onto the couch causing it to flare.
“Talia, we need to get everyone outside.” Peter’s voice bordered dangerously on reprimanding for a wolf talking to their alpha. It could have been that, the flareup they could all see, or possibly a combination of both that had Talia finally dropping Stiles to the floor. He barely had time to stop himself from collapsing completely to the tile before a sharp claw prodded his chest.
“We are not finished.” Came the toothy warning before Talia turned and roared, “Everyone out!”
There was a veritable stampede as the rest of the Hale clan poured out from the cellar and into the smokey kitchen.
“The,” Stiles coughed before trying again, “The door is that way.” Of course the door was that way, they knew that! It was their house! He tried for something a little more useful or, at least, less obvious. “Should be clear.”
One of the older women who’d clambered up first threw a glance at Talia before leading the way out, holding a child’s hand in one of her own and the collar of a terrified man in her other.
Stiles watched as they went, trying to regain his breath while also keeping the wind based barriers strong as the family passed between them. It took Peter’s hand on his chest for him to realize that the three of them were the only ones left and that it wasn’t getting any easier to breathe.
“Are you alright, darling?” He looked concerned, blue eyes flicking down to where Stiles was sure he was already bruising.
Stiles wasn’t sure how the man was ignoring Talia’s glare, but it would be a little more impressive if they weren’t standing around in a burning building.
“I’ll be better when we’re not in here.” That rasp didn’t feel good and definitely didn’t say good things about the state he was in. Glancing at Talia, Stiles took a step towards the door. When she didn’t attack him he continued, eyes only leaving hers when Peter started pushing him to go faster. “Hey, hey! Watch the goods!”
“I’d like said ‘goods’ unburnt, thank you.” Good old Peter, snarky even in the face of death.
The three of them were almost to the door when Stiles’ foot found a warped floorboard. Peter caught him easily, but the instinctual gut reaction to falling had already allowed another gust to slip from Stiles’ grasp.
“God fucking damn it, we were so close!” Reaching out, Stiles grabbed both Peter’s and Talia’s wrists, the alpha snarling as he did, before pushing the three of them forward with the rest of the wind still in his control. They practically flew out the front door, knocking into a few stragglers who hadn’t made it more than a few feet from the porch. “Everybody down!”
Thank every higher power who was listening that werewolves were supernaturally fast. Every person out on the lawn dove for cover, pulling those who couldn’t react in time with them as they did, just in time for the overpowered backdraft to burst out of every available opening. Fire bloomed overhead as the local winds happily fed the flames within.
Stiles shielded closed his eyes and shielded his face against the superheated air, hissing as scalding rain left burn marks on his hand before the worst of it was over. He took a deep breath and then coughed. Smoke inhalation was no joke, but he’d gotten off lighter than most. A hand pressed against the back of his raincoat and Stiles threw Peter a grateful look as he hacked the worst of it out with the assistance of a whisper of wind.
He’d just caught his breath when he was yanked to his feet by the collar of his shirt. Smiling a bit awkwardly, he weakly waved at Talia’s narrow-eyed glare.
“Hey.” Stiles waited for her to respond as the pack picked themselves up around them, but he was never that good at waiting in silence when he was nervous. “Nice weather we’re having?”
Another lightning strike punctuated his question. Stiles was pretty sure Peter just facepalmed behind him. Well, it wasn’t like he was lying, he loved this kind of weather. Though, he conceded within the privacy of his own mind as he watched Talia’s eyelid twitch when another roll of thunder washed over them, maybe this much lightning in a drought zone wasn’t the best. Well, he could take care of that if they gave him enough space. Probably.
“Talia.” Peter had that note of warning in his voice again and Stiles was beginning to wonder exactly how high in the pack he was if he could get away with that.
The alpha in front of him snarled and he set aside that thought for later.
“Why did you do it?” Snarling through the large teeth of her beta shift, Talia’s eyes shone brighter than the fire still burning in her house.
Stiles gave that the baffled look it deserved. (Stiles would later blame this misunderstanding on oxygen deprivation and what was turning into a large case of magical exhaustion.)
“Because it was the right thing to do?” What the hell kind of question was that? Did she not want to be saved?
He probably would have lost his face if not his life if Peter hadn’t practically materialized next to him to catch Talia’s strike before it could connect. Stiles recoiled so hard he would have fallen if it weren’t for the grip the alpha had on his shirt.
“Holy shit! Fine! Next time I see your house getting burnt down by a hunter I’ll just leave, okay?” Teeth clicking together painfully as he hit the ground, Stiles rubbed his jaw and glared up at the frowning alpha. “Try and do a good deed and this is what I get.”
“Hunter?” The word was less of a question and more of a demand, but at least physical violence seemed to be off the table.
Wordlessly pointing to the muddy blond still unconscious in the shadow of the porch stairs, Stiles watched for a moment as the alpha stalked over to deal with the woman.
“That was not your brightest moment, sweetheart.”
“I’m sorry, who just saved who?” Stiles winced as he saw the claw marks Peter received while protecting him from Talia. “Oh, uh. I guess we’re even for today.”
“Which still has me in the lead overall.” Smug as ever, Peter reached out with his uninjured hand to help Stiles up. Scowling, Stiles yanked on the hand which did nothing to unbalance the wolf so he found himself stumbling to his feet.
“I still think that if you caused the problem in the first place, you shouldn’t get points for saving others from it.” Considering all the messes he’d found himself in after befriending the werewolf while in college, Stiles thought it was safe to say he’d be in the lead then. A polite cough reminded Stiles that Peter’s pack was standing all around. He wearily glanced at them before another thought occurred. “Wait. I saved the whole pack! That gives me nearly twenty more in the count! I’m in the lead!”
Excitement dying as he realized Peter wasn’t pouting as he should have been (he had a fourteen count lead!), Stiles narrowed his eyes as the lawyer affected a surprised manner.
“Oh, are we counting other people now? Does that mean I can finally count those hostages from the hotel?” Peter smiled almost beatifically as Stiles deflated a bit. There had been nearly thirty people in that hotel.
“No.” Stiles wasn’t pouting. Bruised and burned, disgruntled and dirty, but absolutely not pouting in the rain.
He was saved from further teasing as one of the internal supports groaned and collapsed, bringing down a section of the second floor with it. The rain might be keeping the fire contained, but unless the fire department arrived soon, the house was going to be a burnt out husk soon. Actually, he was kind of surprised they weren’t here yet.
A bound and still unconscious hunter was tossed into the center of the milling pack members who nearly universally snarled at her, even those who weren’t as supernaturally wolfy.
Oh, right. She probably paid someone to delay them.
“She will be tried by the tribunal.” Talia declared, silencing most of the growls. Those who didn’t quiet were then stared into submission. She went to say more but was interrupted by another crack of thunder.
When his eyes recovered from the flare of light, Stiles realized that Peter was looking at him and not his alpha. Blue eyes pointedly glanced up at the sky and then back at Stiles before a single brow rose in question. His own brow furrowing as he assessed his current state and the storm’s, Stiles ran his hand through the loose portion of his hair. The worst of the charge was already dissipated, but he could use the recharge as it were.
“Yeah, alright.” Ignoring the curious looks of those around him, Stiles dismissed most of the yard as being too full of people or cars before setting out down to the empty driveway he’d traveled to get there. His feet dragged just a bit as he did, but he kept a steady pace even as the last of the adrenaline fueled energy left him. “You know the drill.”
Trusting Peter to keep his pack members safe, Stiles finger-combed the wet tangles out of his unbraided hair, collecting static electricity in one hand as he did. If he had the time and energy, cornrows would be best, but he didn’t (and he hated that look on himself) so maybe just a quick fishtail braid. It’d be a bit lopsided on his head and he wouldn’t be able to separate the storm into parts, but he could take care of that later.
Too much hair for his finger ties, he decided as he gauged the amount he had to work with between his finger and thumb. He could hear an argument happening behind him, but he couldn’t make out the words at this distance. Digging in his raincoat’s pockets for a larger hair tie with his free hand, he smiled as he successfully fished one out. Other hand still occupied with a fist full of sparks, Stiles held the tie between his teeth for now.
A glance around him confirmed he was far enough away to get started. Centering himself on the road with a wide stance, Stiles raised his hands up.
Using his electrified hand as a type of filter, Stiles started pulling the lightning from the storm. He had his eyes closed against the flashing lights and rain, but he could feel the electricity arcing around him leaping between his fingers and down his arms. It took more effort than usual as he had to keep it from jumping to the trees around him, but that was why he usually did this in open fields or on the beach.
It was probably quite the light show. Come to think of it, it was a good thing the firefighters weren’t here for this part.
Once he’d pulled down enough to ensure there wouldn’t be any more cloud to ground strikes, Stiles then began the process of making sure it didn’t get back up there. With the ease of long practice, he pushed aside the tingling feeling the lightning always left him with and started braiding it into his hair.
The finished product was sloppy at best and it would be perpetually damp until he could take the time to siphon the rain that had been called down and threaded in unintentionally, but at least he wasn’t as tired anymore. Another moment and he snapped the tie over the end and he could shake the feeling back into his hands. He tsked as he spotted a scorch mark on his raincoat.
“Damn it.” Unable to tell if it was from the lightning or the fire, Stiles decided it didn’t matter. Either way it was Peter’s fault. He held up his arm to show the approaching man his singed apparel. “You owe me another one, dude.”
“You can put it on my tab.” Peter’s tone was as casual as ever and Stiles couldn’t help rolling his eyes.
“That’s three you owe me. When exactly-” Stiles cut off when Peter didn’t stop as he’d expected. Instead, he found himself wrapped in the werewolf’s arms and being pressed close as Peter brushed their cheeks together. He hesitated as his brain processed (the smell of rain and soot and Peter’s crazy expensive shampoo, the way those broad hands felt pressed against the back of his coat, the cold nose pressed just below his ear) before returning the hug full force.
All the things he’d been suppressing tried rising to the surface. The ‘what if’s threatened to choke him (If he’d gone somewhere else, if he hadn’t visited Lydia and spoken to Deaton, if he hadn’t heard the mad woman’s muttering and been unprepared for the assault, if, if, if) and the previously missed opportunities were demanding to be recognized for what they were (movie nights, research binges, the coffee dates that were probably actual dates, how Lydia might not be so wrong about that ‘practically boyfriends’ thing). Stiles pushed them down with a thick swallow and tried to just enjoy the moment.
They weren’t dead. The rest could come later.
“You must be Stiles.” Talia’s voice had Peter stiffening, but Stiles just pressed him closer in response before opening his eyes to give the alpha a steady look. Not a glare, very specifically not a glare. Peter had good enough standing that he could stand up to his alpha and not get immediately punished for it, Stiles wasn’t going to ruin that for him.
When Peter moved to pull away, Stiles let him. He kept an arm around Peter’s shoulders when the man didn’t move to stand next to the rest of the pack which was nice because the lightning had given him a little boost, but not enough to walk all the way back to Lydia’s after this.
“That’d be me.”
“We’d asked Deaton to test you before bringing you to us, but it seems you found your way here without his assistance.” Somehow Talia managed to seem regal in spite of the rain, with her own house burning down behind her, and the culprit laying at her feet. Or perhaps because of it all.
Stiles snorted, refusing to let it cow him.
“The only thing Deaton has been testing is my patience.” Frowning at the reminder, Stiles looked up at the storm clouds that had settled into a gentle rain. “I guess we should thank him. I only built that up because he talked in circles all morning.”
“I’m not sure the man has given a straight answer in his life. It’s good to know something useful finally came of it,” Peter remarked snidely.
“Deaton has helped the pack many times.” Both Talia’s tone and look were lightly admonishing before she moved on to what Stiles hoped was her point. “After today’s events, it seems the testing is unnecessary. Instead, we just have this question: would you consider being a pack emissary?”
This day kept throwing things at him and Stiles wasn’t sure he could keep rolling with these suckerpunches.
“I’m sorry, I must have rain in my ears. Did you say ‘pack emissary’?” That thing that he’d seen unaffiliated magic users fight over since he’d been aware magic existed? The one with the protection detail, ready-made-backup, closer-than- family pack that would be there for you in thick and thin? The holder of bonds that were literally made on trust that Stiles had squashed all hope of having before he graduated highschool?
That pack emissary?
“That’s right.” It was hard to see in the dim afternoon sunlight, especially with all the rain, but it looked like Talia was fighting a smile.
Stiles would feel more embarrassed about the octave his voice hit on the previous question if his mind hadn’t kicked into overdrive. Swallowing down the ‘yes’ that almost burst out at the mere suggestion, he gave the offer some serious thought.
Pack Emissary for the Hale pack.
Discounting the fact that they already had one (two emissaries for a pack as large as this wasn’t unheard of per se, but it was definitely unusual), being an emissary meant fully integrating with the pack. Emissaries were expected to participate in most pack activities including any meetings with other packs, dealing with external threats, and the signing of treaties. To do so, they needed to be local, available at the drop of a hat, and familiar with every single pack member.
Had this been five years ago, he would have jumped on this offer and never looked back, but now…
Stiles looked to find Peter watching him, his face absolutely blank baring the sharp look in his eyes. Biting the inside of his cheek, Stiles came to a decision and turned back to the waiting alpha.
“I wouldn’t want to be an emissary for,” Stiles substituted the ‘you’ that wanted to come out with only the slightest of hitches, “Beacon Hills, if that’s what you’re asking.” Both statements were true, so there was no fear of getting called out in a lie by the many walking lie detectors he was surrounded with.
“That’s too bad.” She didn’t sound that broken up about it which only made Stiles feel suspicious about the whole thing. Hales not reacting correctly to ‘bad’ news was always something to pay attention to. “What about for a pack just north of Sacramento?”
North of Sacramento? But, that was - Stiles turned to Peter.
“I thought you said there weren’t any packs in the area.” They’d both lived there for nearly two years now and Stiles hadn’t seen hide nor hair of any other were’s living in the area.
“There weren’t.” Peter confirmed. The use of the past tense had Stiles leaning in slowly with narrowed eyes until the werewolf flashed a shiny new set of red eyes at him. “There is now.”
Blindsided for what felt like the millionth time that day, though that might be the creeping exhaustion talking, Stiles connected the dots a little slower than normal. He knew that Peter wasn’t an alpha two weeks ago which meant that he either got it after coming here (but Talia was definitely still an alpha, so) or he must have become one before leaving.
“The omega? Or, well, the alpha, I guess? The omega alpha, or the alpha-omega? The Alpha and the Omega, no, wait now we’re getting religious and side-tracked.” Seeing Peter just smirking at him and his increasingly incoherent questions, Stiles gave him a flat look. “You know what I mean. You got this from him?”
“Of course. You were there, I’m surprised you don’t remember. Did you finally manage to fry your brain, sweetheart?” Peter leaned back and ran his hand up along Stiles’ spine until his fingers trailed between his braids, dramatically checking for damage. Breath catching a little, Stiles rolled his eyes at the familiar taunt, but didn’t move to stop the inspection.
“If you mean the roar thing you did at the end, I thought it was just you showing off, dear.” Fingernails scraped lightly against his scalp as Stiles tried to see if he could look more unimpressed. He didn’t manage it, though he was sure Lydia would have been able to.
They were interrupted by Talia’s pointed cough before further witticisms could be exchanged and Stiles was a little grateful for it. He was realizing that he may have underestimated how much lightning he needed to absorb rather than contain.
“Would you be consider it?” Talia pressed. The other pack members were once again gathered behind their alpha with only a single outlier who was closer to halfway between the two groups.
Consider being the pack emissary for Peter’s new pack? The answer was obvious.
“I don’t need to.” Stiles shook his head even as the smiles dropped from many a face. Raising a brow at them, he then turned to Peter to see if he understood, forgetting how close they were now that he was basically using the werewolf to keep himself standing.
They were almost nose to nose and Stiles was certain that it was illegal for Peter Hale to look that fondly exasperated at any range let alone point blank. How the man managed to look so good when Stiles probably looked like a drowned rat, he wasn’t sure. He was so distracted by it all that he nearly startled when Peter sighed at his antics even though that’s what he’d been expecting when he phrased it that way.
“Stiles.” Peter paused like the drama king he was. “Will you be my pack’s emissary?”
“Of course, creeper wolf. You only had to ask!” Grinning, Stiles watched at least two of the Hales bring a hand to their face at the semantics argument. “I’m not sure why you didn’t ask before you left, it would have saved a lot of trouble.”
“You know how packs love their-” Peter continued even as Stiles chimed in for the final word, guessing it easily from any number of explanations he’d heard before, “-traditions.”
“Ah, yes.” A thought occurred to him suddenly. “Wait. Are we going to be following them? Is there a rule book?” Stiles looked back at the burning house and paled as the implications started setting in. By this point, the upper floor had completely collapsed and even with Talia now organizing the rest of her pack to save what was left of the structure, it was doubtful anything as flammable as books had survived.
“Don’t tell me, the rule book was in the library wasn’t it. Peter! Peter, tell me you didn’t keep all your books in the house that just burned down.” Pulling him closer with the arm still slung around his shoulders, Stiles fisted the alpha’s shirt with his other hand finding new energy from his panic over lost knowledge. “Peter, you better have saved the important books in another location. Tell me you did. Lie to me if you have to!”
Peter’s laugh was echoed behind Stiles, but he didn’t look away from his captive, still awaiting an answer and unwilling to miss the tell of a lie.
“The library here only held the common knowledge books.” Shaking his head at Stiles’ disbelieving stare, Peter began carefully uncurling the hand that was stretching out his shirt as he defended himself. “This was a house with more than a handful of children, over half of whom are born wolves. The priceless items were kept in the vault where pups can’t practice their artwork on them.”
“Uncle Peter.” A mortified teenager piped up behind Stiles. Now forcibly released from Peter’s shirt, Stiles pivoted to see the young woman who’d been between packs. He watched as she pouted at her uncle. “Will you ever let that go? I said I was sorry.”
“And I believed you.” Peter was using his ‘I’m honestly so disappointed in you’ voice that he liked to use on witnesses and invasive magical creatures who tried to lie to his face. “I believed you right up until you did it to a third book. After that, I’ve found that belief is nice, but a foolproof lock is usually better.”
“Says you.” Stiles interjected, jabbing a finger with just a touch of lingering static into that ticklish spot just below Peter’s ribs. Wobbling a little as he took back his right arm to hold out his hand to the teen, he introduced himself. “Stiles Stilinski, PI and this guy’s emissary.”
Her smile was a little fangy, but the hand that shook his was firm and didn’t claw him up, which was a plus.
“Cora Hale, mountaineer, future archaeologist a la Indiana Jones, and hopefully Peter’s first beta.” She was pretty confident in her skills for a teenager, but Stiles could see now that the teeth were a nervous reaction just like the previous giggles.
“Hopefully?” he repeated before turning to look at his alpha. Peter, who had been watching the introduction with poorly disguised interest, simply raised his brows in question when Stiles threw him a look that stated ‘what is wrong with you’ in large capital letters. “Peter, why are you stringing along your niece? You probably made your decision in less than an hour, why keep us all in suspense?”
“Not even five minutes into the job and you’re already shirking duties? Maybe I should have asked that boy Finstock is always complaining about to be my emissary. I’m sure Greenburrow wouldn’t be asking pointless questions on his first day.”
Well, Stiles might have been a little slow on the uptake there, but two could play this game.
“Oh, well. I guess you could ask Greenburg. I haven’t signed any paperwork yet and I know how you need things to be filled out correctly.” Peter complained about it often enough that Stiles was sure he could fill out the lawyer’s paperwork better than most of the firm’s assistants. Dismissing Peter and his growing amusement (which wasn’t what he was going for, damn it, so these warm feelings can just take a hike! That fond smile wasn’t that handsome, brain, get it together!) Stiles turned back to Cora. “So, would you like to be an alpha as well? It only took me five years of running around with your uncle to stumble across an insane one for him to take down legally, so I figure we could do it in two if we’re actively trying. What do you say?”
Cora glanced up at Peter before her smile went from hesitant to mischievous.
“Well, I hadn’t really thought about it. Being an alpha wasn’t really a goal, but I think it’d be a fun challenge to see if I could do it faster than Uncle Peter if only to see the look on his face.” They shared a grin as Peter let out a gusty sigh.
“Whose beta did you want to be again? It couldn’t possibly be the alpha you’re trying to steal the emissary out from under their nose, now would it?”
Something caught Stiles’ eye just over Cora’s shoulder. Looking over, Stiles studied Talia as she watched her brother and her daughter playfully bicker with a soft, almost wistful look on her face. It only lasted a moment before her eyes met his. The wistfulness was wiped away, but even though the look conveyed the expected and oh, so eloquent shovel talk Stiles imagined he also saw a bit of hope there. Hope for what, he couldn’t say, but he gave her a half smile anyway before he tuned back into the conversation.
“I promised your mother that you’d get a fighting chance, so once school is over for the year you’ll be coming out to live with me for a few weeks so that Stiles can get to know you.” Peter was all but wagging a finger at his niece who was nodding along seriously. With a family this big, Stiles could see the appeal of getting out from under your parent’s thumb even if the situation didn’t work out in the long run.
“Right, I’ll let you know when my exams are finished.” Pausing, Cora cocked her head and looked back down the driveway towards the main roads. “Sirens? Is that the firetruck? Now?”
A look was shared over the teen’s head at her increasingly disbelieving questions. He made a mental note, first thing to train the pup in was politics and how money made the world go round.
The first vehicle around the bend wasn’t actually an emergency response vehicle at all, but a familiar sports car. It pulled off to the side next to where the three of them had relocated to make room for the actual firetruck.
“Stiles!” Lydia started before even stepping foot out of the car. She popped open an umbrella to protect against the lingering drizzle and grimaced a little as her designer shoes sunk into the muddy driveway. Dismissing the inconvenience, she stalked over to her friend. “Stiles, ‘the Hale house is on fire ’ is not enough of information when you’re sending out a warning. Was I only supposed to bring the fire department? Should I have called the police or should I be headed straight to the tribunal? If this is the level of detail you give your clients, I’m surprised you’re still in business.”
“Sorry, Lyds. It got a little hectic.” Not bothering to hide his weariness, Stiles leaned on Peter. Lydia’s pointed look was ignored because even if she was right, he wasn’t going to admit that before he had a chance to confirm the whole thing with Peter.
“I can see that.”
Well, Stiles didn’t doubt that. Her sweeping look probably took in the husk of a house, the family milling around it, the scorch mark on his coat, and the way Peter begun chasing Stiles’ migraine away by massaging his shoulders just so, before her genius brain put all of it together and skipped every equation and simply arrived at the correct answer.
“Good to see you again, Miss Martin.”
“I’m sure.” The tone was one a Stepford wife would be proud of. “I see you’ve managed to stay alive, Hale.”
“Of course. It was quite the rescue Stiles helped us with.” That pulled a genuine smile out of Lydia.
“He is quite good at those, isn’t he?”
“One of his many redeeming qualities that I’ll be happy to see more of in the future.”
“He is standing right here.” Stiles looked between the two of them in time to see the red fading from Peter’s eyes, but neither of them acknowledged his comment or presence.
“I see.” Lydia narrowed her eyes, no doubt conveying a shovel talk of her own. “Are congratulations in order?”
“Of a sort.” His head tilting speculatively, Peter raised a brow before offering, “You’re more than welcome to join us.”
A glance showed that Cora was still watching the back and forth with wide eyes and Stiles hoped that she didn’t come to the wrong conclusions with that comment.
“Not on your life, Hale.” Sniffing, Lydia turned to head back to her car
“And if it were on Stiles’?” Peter confirmed the offer of a possible place on the pack simply because she was Stiles’ best friend and the redhead paused. She gave Peter a measuring look over her shoulder before turning away.
“Ask me again once I’m done defending my thesis.” Opening the driver side door, Lydia closed her umbrella and kicked the worst of the mud off her shoes. “Come on, Stiles. I’ll give you a ride back.”
Back to a shower, food, and a warm bed. Stiles drifted forward before the slide of a hand against the nape of his neck had him turning.
They didn’t have the same; would they be okay? Peter chuckled as if reading his mind. Pulling Stiles close once again, Peter dragged a stubbled cheek along his own.
“Beacon Hills has a few hotels we can use, not to mention the cabins that are scattered throughout the reserve.” The reminder was murmured into his ear before Peter pulled back and gave him that fond smile, as smug as ever. “Go home and rest. I’ll contact you tomorrow, sweetheart.”
Stiles’ shiver was absolutely due to the breezes sapping the warmth from his wet clothes, not Peter’s velvety voice. His hand made an aborted move to grab Peter’s before he thought better of it.
“If you don’t, you can be sure I’ll find you.” Peter’s smile just widened in the face of Stiles’ very real threat. Gifting him a narrow eyed look in return, Stiles made sure to smile as he waved good-bye to Cora before making his way over to where Lydia was impatiently waiting.
“You know, when I told you to check on your boyfriend, I thought you’d finally make out, not save his family and become his pack emissary.” Barely waiting for him to shut the door, Lydia shifted gears as he strapped himself in.
Stiles shrugged as the car backed away from the emergency vehicles that were blocking most of the driveway.
“I wanted to make a good impression. Making out can always come later.” Opening his eyes from where they’d slipped closed, Stiles realized that Peter was watching him intently from where they’d left him. The alpha’s eyes were blazing red and Stiles memory helpfully informed him that alphas had even better hearing than other werewolves. Not only had Peter heard them, but he most likely knew that Stiles was telling the truth.
With all that in mind, Stiles maintained eye contact as his lips curled into a wicked smirk, only looking away once the trees broke line of sight.
Looks like today hadn’t been so bad after all.