Chapter Text
Everyone tells Stiles Peter Hale is beyond saving.
Stiles doesn’t listen. He never pays attention to everyone. The only thing he’s listening to, are his own instincts.
He has been a companion for traumatized wolves for years now. He has seen wolves so feral, they threw themselves against the walls and tore into their own flesh. He has seen wolves so depressed, they let themselves starve until their ribs were too pronounced and only stared blankly at the provided food. He has seen a lot. And if there is one thing he has learnt over the years, it is that there is no such thing as a wolf being beyond saving.
You just have to be patient with them.
But Stiles knows too well that nowadays, it is incredibly hard for people to be patient. Everything has to happen fast. No one has time anymore. So Stiles isn’t really surprised, when the others at the werewolf rehabilitation center take one look at the new broken wolf in the closed ward and shake their heads, mumbling about how sometimes, euthanasia should still be allowed, because this is just “cruel”. It is cruel, they say, to let a wolf, whose pack bonds have just snapped one by one in the most painful way, vegetate alone in a soundproof room, only because people think everyone can and should be saved. This wolf, they say, is too broken. He is a danger to himself and others. He will never be able to live a normal life again. Not after this, they say. And they turn away.
Stiles doesn’t say anything to that. He barely talks to people nowadays. They have disappointed and abandoned him far too often. His own family. His supposed friends. Everyone. He mostly talks to the broken wolves now. They listen. At least, they listen. The wolves listen and they have taught him so much. They have taught him to be calm, patient, attentive. They have taught him so much more than any human ever did. They saved him. More than one time. And Stiles never turns his back on one of them.
He looks at the fully shifted emaciated werewolf behind the glass. Looks at the still bandaged paws and the places where whole patches of grey fur are missing, revealing tight scarred skin. He looks at how the wolf lays on his side, his open yellow eyes staring blankly into the void. There is a nest of fuzzy blankets and pillows in one corner of the room, but the wolf lays far away from them on the bare tiles. He didn’t touch the water or food in front of him. Stiles is quite sure he won’t pay attention to it for a long while. Right now, he thinks while looking into the hazy eyes that were full of life not that long ago, the wolf only thinks about what he has lost in the flames.
The story is gruesome. It shocked the whole town.
The Hales have been a huge family and were respected by most people in the town. Of course, there were the usual occasional snide whispers of ‘monsters’, 'freaks' or ‘abominations’, but since the new treaties and rules concerning werewolves and their territories have finally been established, the Hales were mostly left alone and minded their own business. On the rare occasion he went to the bakery early enough, Stiles has seen Peter bringing the kids to school with his fancy car. He has seen him adjusting the schoolbag of one of his smaller nieces, has seen him giving goodbye kisses and has seen him staring after the kids with a certain fondness in his bright blue eyes. Stiles tried to be subtle - The man was damn hot in his tailored lawyer suit, how was he supposed to not try to steal a glimpse of that arse? - but sometimes, he caught himself staring too much and looked away in embarrassment, sometimes feeling the tickle of Peter’s gaze on his back and sensing his own face burning.
Now, he is staring at Peter again, but everything has changed. Everything.
The Hales - the oldest and biggest werewolf pack around - are dead. Only two of them survived the fire consuming their house. Everyone knows perfectly fine that it was a hate crime. Someone decided that the Hales didn’t deserve to live. Just because they happened to be werewolves. Just because they sometimes turned into actual wolves and chased after some rabbits or howled at the full moon together. Goddamn. What a fucked up world.
After Peter was brought to the rehabilitation center, Stiles briefly met one of the other survivors. One of Peter’s older nephews. His cat-like greenish eyes were heavy and red-rimmed. He looked too old and pained for his age. He is only four years younger than Stiles. Eighteen. He introduced himself as Derek Hale. Derek wasn’t in the house when it burned. But he was the one finding his uncle in the forest not far away from the fire, licking at his burned paws and whining in unbearable pain, not able to get up on his own.
“Can you help him?” Derek asked Stiles anxiously, not able to look away from the sedated wolf laying on a heap of blankets, getting fluids and painkillers through an IV line.
“I will try,” Stiles said. “But it is going to take a lot of time,” he added truthfully. Some Weres stay in their wolf form for years after the trauma inducing incident. Stiles thinks the current "record" is at ten. The woman had to learn how to live as a human again. It was a slow process, full of setbacks, but now, she is working as an ambassador for Supernaturals, so there’s that.
Derek nodded curtly. “Thank you,” he said softly, throwing a last sad glance at his uncle and leaving with his shoulders hanging low. He was walking away like an old man. An Alpha now. All of a sudden. Alpha without anyone to teach him what to do with the spark. An Alpha without a proper pack and a pack house. An Alpha with only a little sister and his uncle in his wolf form left. Stiles looked after him and the sympathy was making his chest clench.
Peter didn’t shift back to human in the next few days. Stiles wasn’t surprised about that. The wolf has seen his family burning in front of his eyes. His sister Talia, all the children, the older Weres as well as his human brother who had also been a lawyer. He had to hear them choking on smoke and screaming in pain as the fire started to lick at those who didn’t pass out in time. The report later said that Peter couldn’t have been inside the house when it started burning because the mountain ash barriers would have prevented him from escaping, and that is the most cruel detail for Stiles personally, because it means Peter ran in. He ran right into the inferno, trying to save his trapped family.
He tried to imagine Peter throwing himself against the mountain ash again and again, until the fire reached for him as well. Tried to imagine how he screamed the names of his nephews and nieces. Tried to imagine how he had to give up eventually, how the wolf took over and forced him to leave the house before he could die with the others. The thoughts and mental images were enough to give him a vivid nightmare.
It was a tragedy and everyone knew about it. Soon after the fire, People started to lay down flowers at the Hales’ family grave. The police started to investigate without much success. The arsonists clearly knew what they were doing. Maybe, they are doing it again somewhere else now. People who kill out of hate never seem to be able to stop.
The Hale house is a charred black carcass in the middle of the woods now. After some time, people started to visit it for the occasional scary shiver over their backs that hit them when they realized that the place is full of screaming ghosts, almost palpable in the air and in the burned smell lingering around the house.
Stiles didn’t start his companion work immediately. He never does. There is lots of necessary groundwork. First he only observed and waited, assessing the wolf’s state of mind. Depressed, he decided. Severely depressed and feral, but not violent. The wolf hasn’t lashed out even once. He has never tried to escape or hurt anyone who tended to his wounds. He knows that could change. He has seen wolves who were impassive for months and suddenly tried to grab everything that came near their fangs.
Stiles has already worked with wolves who attacked him. It was stressful, because he had to watch his back with them. Had to be ready to run or grab his tranquilizer gun. So far, he has been attacked like ten times. There is a silver moon-shaped scar on his right elbow. It is only one reminder of these attacks. Stiles isn’t stupid. He knows what Weres are capable of. He always pays attention to everything happening when he’s with them. He pays them the amount of respect they deserve.
Today is the first time Stiles wants to go in.
Over the last days, he has been lingering outside the room longer than usually, making sure Peter caught a glimpse of him. He knows there is a shirt with his scent between the blankets in the room. Before he enters, he makes sure he has the tranquilizer gun and it is loaded. He also makes sure he has nothing on him that a wolf could grab and use to pull at him. He can’t afford being careless. It did cost other companions a leg or hand or even their life. The latter always causes loud angry screams in the public, demanding more rules and more sentences for "misbehaving Weres". The worst are the people who want to abolish the "ridiculous" rehabilitation centers all at once and vote for an instant death penalty. Like a wolfsbane bullet in the head. Disgusting.
Stiles doesn't want to be responsible for new discussions, which usually treat wolves like they are things, not living beings. Weres really already have enough problems. The prove for that is laying right in front of him.
When Stiles is sure, he has done everything he can to prevent accidents, he uses his card to let himself into the room. He breathes deeply and evenly, trying to appear as calm and unthreatening as possible, while he steps in and closes the door behind him. It is always a thrilling moment, to willingly enter a room containing a huge wolf able to effortlessly crush bones and throw a grown up person against the other wall.
Peter barely stirs when Stiles enters. One of his ears twitches and his snout crinkles briefly. But other than that, he remains motionless, laying on his unhurt side like usually. His yellow eyes are distant.
Stiles moves unhurriedly. He sits down cross-legged in the middle of the room with a book like he always does. He won’t just stare at the wolf and do nothing. That would only unnerve both of them. He opens the book and starts to read.
Time passes.
It is silent in the room. Because of the soundproofing, the steps and words of the people walking past outside are not audible in here. The only noises are Stiles’ even breaths, the softly turning pages and the wolf’s slightly heavier but also even breaths. When Stiles has read a whole chapter, he closes the book and lays it between his feet. He looks up at Peter and takes care to not look directly into the wolf’s eyes. “I will be back tomorrow,” he says quietly. There is no need to yell. The wolf will understand even a whisper. “Same time.”
He looks for a reaction in vain. The wolf has already closed his eyes and looks like he dozes off in seconds.
Stiles isn’t disappointed about the lack of interaction. It is okay. This was only the first encounter. Nothing more than a careful mutual scanning. It is nice that the wolf feels safe enough to take a nap in Stiles' presence. Next time, he is going to read the words in his book out loud, to let the wolf get used to the sound of Stiles' voice.
He gets up, puts the book under his arm and walks back to the door. Before he lets himself out, he can hear a quiet whimper that changes into a low whining. Stiles looks back over his shoulder and sees the wolf twitching restlessly in his sleep. Nightmare, he thinks, feeling a sudden rush of sympathy. “He’s having constant nightmares,” Thomas, one of the nurses who take care of Peter’s injuries, told Stiles not that long ago. “Sometimes, he’s clawing at his own skin and we have to sedate him before he hurts himself too badly.”
It is no surprise, of course. After what Peter has been through, nightmares and flashbacks are to be expected. Still, Stiles feels his throat tightening. Involuntarily, he imagines the attractive man who brought all the kids to school and looked after them until they disappeared in the building. He imagines that man and compares him to this shadow of a wolf. It is painful.
Stiles forces himself to turn away and disconnect from the pitiful noises. He can’t comfort Peter yet. It is way too early for that. If he dared to touch a sleeping wolf he barely knows, he would probably end up with deathly fangs around his neck.
He leaves.
When he drives his old rattling jeep home a little while later, Stiles has a feeling that patience alone will not be enough here.