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It’s not like it’s a sudden thing that happens. At first, it’s just a necessity, a kind of kindness that makes one feel obliged to help in certain situations. Stiles lends Derek his shirt because getting it clawed to pieces during October is, well, cold, and also no one wants to stare at Derek’s abs for more than 5 minutes (well that’s a lie, but Stiles is a somewhat decent person and decides to not dwell on the image). It’s a one time thing, and besides Stiles has plenty of shirts so it’s not like he’ll miss it.
But things are never so simple in Beacon Hills.
It was only little things, at first. Peter got his V-neck shredded to bits: Stiles let him borrow a too-tight shirt with some faded game logo on it, although why Peter gave him that oddly touched look was beyond him. Scott already knew Stiles allowed him to borrow his clothes, however he still gave him that puppy look of gratitude every time, which was cute but like, totally not necessary.
Sometimes he would offer Lydia his flannel, despite her apparent disdain for the pattern. Because being caught outside in pajamas during a supernatural attack can be really cold, which Stiles thought sucked. A lot.
He caught Issac once, hair matted and face splattered with dirt (blood? thought Stiles), just sitting by his window looking at the stars. And Stiles was hit by a sudden emotion, one that was hard to describe but made you want to cry anyway. So he let Issac in and gave him the tackiest minecraft sweater he owned, wiping the dirt (it was definitely blood, however Stiles did not want to ask who’s) from his skin. They didn’t talk about it later, but Stiles would have to be an idiot to not notice the change in attitude Issac gave him after that.
But then their lives got a little harder, with more injuries, and a lot less time to do laundry. Oh, and more pack meetings. A lot more pack meetings. And did Stiles mention laundry?
They were meeting in Stiles’s living room, and Stiles was currently in the shower, dreading the rest of the week.
His last clean pair of sweatpants, along with a maroon sweater found shoved at the very back of a drawer, were what remained in his closet. He thought about asking his dad for help, but quickly dismissed the idea of making his father do laundry. He was old enough to do it himself, but god did his friends using all his clothes make it harder. He didn’t even realize that the rest of his clothes were way too ripped or bloody to use.
He turned off the steaming water and blindly reached for a towel, wrapping it haphazardly around his waist while opening the door to his room. And, well, right to Lydia.
“Oh! I, woah, okay! Warning next time??” Stiles held up his towel before it could slip, and was about to start an off-topic conversation out of nervousness, but then he noticed what she was wearing.
“Hold on. Are those mine?”
Lydia gave him a strained but confident smile. “Yes, why are you looking at me like that?”
Stiles gave her the same smile back. “Well. I don’t have any more unbloodied clothes. So, why did you change into these if you came here in your own clothes?”
She blinked. “Oh. I wasn’t feeling comfortable, so I took your clothes. You can wear mine if you’d like.”
And something in her face, the way her frown reached her eyes and seemed to hang in the corners of her soul made him hold his tongue and sigh, although he did so dramatically just because. “Fineeee. Keep the sweater, where are your clothes?”
She handed them to him, and Stiles could guess why she felt so uncomfortable, considering that Peter had started regularly attending these meetings. So he tucked himself away into the bathroom again and changed, thanking the werewolf gods for the fact that he still had clean boxers. The matching crop top and high waisted skirt were tight, and the oh-so-dreaded boob window had crossed lace to provide maximum… peekage? But it fit. And he looked at himself in the mirror and covered his face and sighed and decided that honestly for his friends? For Lydia? If she was uncomfortable with this outfit, he could put up with it, it’s not like he was the one mauled by a werewolf that then proceeded to use him in a ressurection ritual.
“Oh, wow that looks better than I expected Stiles. Anyway it’s about time, let's head on down?” Lydia smiled at him, and since she looked at ease Stiles thought that it might be okay to not worry about his laundry for the moment so they could get this dumb meet out of the way.
Well, most of them weren’t dumb, however this one was because they were supposed to be talking strategy about some mysterious creature eating babies in the woods, except if you thought about the creature it would start hunting you. So how do you even strategize against that??? Stiles didn’t know. At least, he didn’t know of a plan where no one else got hurt.
Reaching the general meeting area, Lydia and Stiles sat down at the same time, while Scott and Issac squabbled over which channel would play in the background of their meet. Allison was reading something that seemed kind of supernatural-esque, and didn’t see them come in. Derek quirked his eyebrow at the two, but didn’t say anything. Peter was in the kitchen, and Stiles wasn’t sure what he was doing in there but didn’t really care too much (or did he?). Some of the pack couldn’t make it, Erica and Boyd were out of the state, Kira was still on vacation, and Cora was….. Well, Stiles wasn’t sure, Derek didn’t really know so that meant none of them did.
“Okay, so if everyone that matters is in the room, we have to talk about the thing.” Derek sat up straighter to, I don’t know, seem more leader-like? Stiles rolled his eyes but listened anyway.
“I think it’s safe to assume that if thinking about… The thing we aren’t supposed to think about will make it hunt us, it might be better for that to happen than to let the babies of all the nearby towns to start getting picked off. Besides, we don’t even know if there is only one of these…?”
“Mind-reading baby snatchers?”
“Yes, Stiles, those. We don’t know how many of them there are, so we need to be careful. Peter, you get all that? About being careful?”
Peter had wandered into the room halfway through Derek’s speech, flour on his apron.
“Yes yes, I got it. Baby snatchers are bad and be careful. Now what else are we discussing?”
Derek made eye contact with Stiles before continuing.
“Well. It’s about Stiles.”
Allison slammed her book down.
“Oh thank god, I really thought we were going to ignore that hot outfit.”
“What? No Allison, I meant that we need to maybe chill on the whole, borrowing his clothes front. I didn’t even notice his outfit...” Derek gave her a, did you really say that outloud, look and shook his head. Allison just gave them a sheepish smile. Peter gave Derek a glare.
“No, she’s right, it is a hot outfit, and I’m disappointed you didn’t even acknowledge it. Why don’t we just help him with his laundry instead?”
Peter looked like he just came up with the greatest idea as he said this, and then a ding from the kitchen interrupted this awful conversation about Stiles. Lydia was smirking at him.
“Oh, brownies are done. Would anyone like some?”
So it turns out, everyone actually enjoyed the brownies. Also, literally 17 minutes after they finished their meeting and dispersed, that baby-eater totally showed up at Stiles’s house, which he thought was very uncool. And kind of scary.
“Okay Stiles, focus on the moment. Gotta call Scotty.”
Stiles blindly fumbled around in the dark, searching for his phone (and wasn’t it rude of it to cut his power?). And he found it!, but. Well, something else found it at the same time. And their hands met.
The creature made a low clicking sound, and Stiles snatched his phone away and squeaked, scrambling away as that darned baby-snatcher started crawling towards him, complete with wet sticky sounds.
“I know you’re thinking about me….. You cannot escape…………..”
Stiles didn’t bother responding, he was too busy figuring out why of all times he forgot to charge his phone. Talk about some horror movie shit. Well, unlike horror movies, Stiles always had a plan b. (There was also plan c, although he didn’t like going past b). Grasping the dog whistle in his pocket, he quickly blew as hard as he could, hoping that some of his friends were in range to hear it. The baby bitch (Stiles was running out of things to call it) screeched in response and swiped at him with elongated claws, slicing across his chest and into his skin.
He backed away quick enough so it wouldn’t go too much past the dermal layer, however god did it hurt like a bitch. He needed to distract it.
“Wow! Okay! How about we talk before you maim me, uhh, since you can talk?”
Stiles gave the… thing a smile, or the closest thing he could get to a smile, and to his surprise it didn’t attack him.
“Why waste time with talk………… When I can eat…… You………”
“What? Um. Because I’m not a baby, and since babies can’t talk, I bet you don’t get a lot of conversations, do you?” Stiles gulped at the idea of being eaten, but managed to save wit and calm himself enough to stall. Although, it had him cornered in the, well, corner of the living room, and it wasn’t a very pleasant way to hold a conversation. Also, it apparently did not want to hold a conversation.
“You also scream louder than most babies……. :)” The baby monster trailed its claws along the bleeding cuts on his chest (he didn’t dare move) and tore at the threads of his shirt, stopping at the base of his neck. “Let’s see how loud you can scream-”
Of course, all suspense of torture must come to an end, and thankfully in this case Stiles did not die. Peter (wow all werewolfy and shit) came barrelling into the baby-snatcher and shoved it into the wall, although he did it with enough restraint to not permanently damage his walls, which was very kind Stiles thought. And they fought for a while? Stiles tried to keep track after Peter threw his opponent out the window (shattering it, mind you), but it all went silent after Allison shot an arrow through its head.
There was a moment of silence as the baby-eater dissolved into a weird powder.
“Okay, that was really loud. Why didn’t you just call one of us?” Peter glanced at Stiles (it was his signature Look) and looked away, and then looked at him again. Stiles caught his breath, then rolled his eyes.
“Phone died. Thanks for the help guys, uh, actually why are you two alone?” Stiles quirked an eyebrow and looked at the odd pair, wincing as he stood up straight. Peter handed Stiles his jacket, staring at his wounds, and smirked. (Stiles was not self conscious, but he felt like Derek did whenever his shirt got ripped to shreds).
“Well, I heard your annoying toy and figured the… what did you call it? Baby snatcher? I figured that showed up, but since I wasn’t sure I could kill it myself, I picked up that one,” Peter motioned towards Allison, “Because she’s got the… arrows, I guess.” Stiles, now safely covered in Peter’s still warm jacket (not that he thought it was a good thing), took in Allison’s mussed up hair and flushed cheeks and blinked.
“What, like you literally picked her up…?”
“Uh, yes. It’s not like I had a lot of time.”
“Huh. Thanks.”
Allison smiled and patted Stiles on the shoulder. “I didn’t mind the ride too much really, you were in danger and also, it was kinda fun? We should probably get you patched up now though.”
Stiles nodded as they headed to the bathroom. Peter leaned in close, whispering, “and I’ll help you with laundry afterwards, can’t have you go stealing my jacket.” Stiles groaned.
Peter kind of felt bad about Lydia’s shirt getting ripped to shreds (I mean, it looked amazing on both her and Stiles), so helping the human in question with his laundry wasn’t exactly the most difficult task. In fact, Peter thought smugly, Stiles should be very grateful. After all, he knew how to remove even the most tedious bloodstains from garments, and Peter did also save his life.
Well, it would be Very Boring if Stiles died. Maybe even (god forbid) sad. He glanced over to where Stiles was, separating his whites, and smiled, but only because. Well. Okay, so he didn’t have a real reason this time, so what? Peter had a heart. He just didn’t like baring it, not even to the warmth of others, especially considering his last major memory of “warmth”.
Anyway. Stiles was still wearing Peter’s jacket (Still, wow, Peter might never get over it), but looking at the sheer amount of laundry to be done was almost shocking. But then again, if everyone borrowed his clothes without regulation, of course a buildup would happen. He didn’t know what the others expected.
“Wow. Why do you even have all these clothes? Some of these look like they would barely fit you. Unless you’re going for a tight fit…?” Peter gave Stiles another one of those Glances and shook his head.
“Oh, well, just never had the time to get rid of them. Some of it’s sentimental though, so, yeah.” Stiles looked a bit off after that statement, so Peter came up with another one of his brilliant ideas. Not that all of his ideas weren’t brilliant, but usually the ones he does with the intention of good are a special kind of brilliant.
“So, Stiles. Do you have spare house keys? I mean I can always break in but I’d figure I’d ask first.” Peter leaned in close at this, and Stiles averted his eyes and opened his mouth to reply. But his dad beat him to it (RIP).
“Excuse me? I come back from work and this is what I come home to?”
The sheriff was leaning against the doorway, looking at Peter with an unreadable expression on his face (It was “dude.”). Before Peter could respond, he continued. “Furthermore, why is my window shattered? And these bloodstains? You couldn’t have taken it outside?”
Stiles rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Nice to see you too dad, yes I’m fine just some minor injuries, the wall is fixable and so is the window, anything else?” He looked at his dad pointedly, looking back at Peter to give him emphasis.
The sheriff blinked. “Oh, well sorry for interrupting your moment? If you need me son, I’ll be in my room.” He then promptly left, a smile on his face as he shook his head.
Again, it’s the little things at first. Since they went through and donated all the clothes he didn’t need (Stiles finally stored away the sentimental, painful garments), Stiles started noticing new things in his closet.
He covered his eyes and groaned. Scratch that, they obviously weren’t new, his closet was slowly gathering various articles of Peter’s clothing. And it didn’t stop there. Every time someone “borrowed” something of his, a new item would appear in its place, like Allison’s cardigan, or Scott’s T-shirts. Lydia would leave him different outfits to see if they matched his vibes (or something, he wasn’t sure what she meant), and Issac even left him a green chunky sweater once.
He even got more leather in his wardrobe, if you can believe that. If he didn’t know better, Stiles would believe that his pack was gauging his fashion sense, but of course they would never do such a thing (right?).
Oh, and Stiles was not in love with any of his friends, despite his father telling him otherwise.
After the nogitsune leaves, he is left with an empty hole. Everything is slightly off, but that’s to be expected when your own body gets taken from you. Stolen. He doesn’t really verbalize it, because it’s an odd and unimportant thing compared to Allison almost dying because of him (although everyone insists that it’s not his fault), however it weighs on him like stones set into bone, cracking under the pressures of whatever this hell his life was.
But because he has support, he supposes that he’ll be okay.
Stiles looks at the picture on his bedside of the pack that his father took one night while they had all fallen asleep in the living room after a meeting, and decides that he’ll try his best to forgive himself. After all, it could have ended much worse.
Whenever he goes to visit Allison later that day, he leaves his maroon sweater in her closet.