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Reclining back into his chair with a deep sigh, Stiles felt his back crack, making him groan. Wiping his eyes, he focused on the laptop screen on the coffee table in front of him, the word count still displaying zero. With a shake of his head, he climbed out of the human-sized dent in the couch, wrinkling his nose at the scattered piles of modern and ancient books lying across the table and floor, the words refusing to dredge up any form of inspiration.
It had been two months since he'd returned from college, degree firmly in hand and eyes bright. He'd rented out a small, shabby apartment on the East side of Beacon Hills, much to his father's relief, and had set his sights on writing a novel. A guidebook, of sorts, for humans like him who had been running with the Supernatural, and held their own weight, in their own way.
Whilst the apartment was small, it had its own charm, the walls painted a sage green, their surface covered in climbing vines and superhero prints- turning attention away from the few cracks and dents littering the space. Stiles had spent a great deal of time and effort making the place perfect, both for him and his plants, the furniture worn but cosy. It wasn't much, but it was his sanctuary.
The years away at college had refined his spark, allowed it to grow and come into itself, nurtured by experienced and giving witches and druids across the country- it had only gotten stronger when he returned to Beacon Hills, much to the shock and delight of the pack. It was with pride and shock that he followed Deaton's legacy, becoming pack emissary and chief negotiator for the Hale Pack.
Fondly recalling the past few weeks, Stiles smiled softly, thinking of the now totally refurbished Hale House, and the occupants, the remnants of the original Hale pack, and whichever other pack members who wanted a place to stay at any given time.
Stiles had decided to get his own apartment on the edge of town, only a short drive from the rest of the pack- a place of his own. Whilst Derek and the others had assured him that the packhouse was always open for him, he'd wanted his own space, at least for now. The apartment was cosy, books and plants scattered on every available surface, but everything had its place- and he could pinpoint anything he needed in seconds.
Turning to the kitchen, Stiles scrubbed a hand over his eyes and yawned, finding a cup and filling it at the sink, grimacing at the remnants of Cheeto dust clinging to the sides. As if in answer to his disgust, the peace lily on the windowsill wilted, turning away from him as the previously pale cream was marred by brown creeping through the stems and up to the petals. Stiles tutted, lifting a finger to the petal and giving it a soft stroke.
"I get it, I'm living in my own mess right now, message received," He murmured drily, snorting as the plant perked up almost immediately in response. Taking a minute to wipe down the grunge in the sink, Stiles felt a buzz from his pocket. It was from Peter.
Are you deigning to show up tonight for dinner, or drowning in doughnuts and Cheetos?
Stiles let out a scoff, shaking his head and tossing the remaining Cheetos into the trash and hopping onto a barstool.
Why, miss me?
Fiddling with his phone for a second, he stalled, pushing down the thrill he'd felt at sending the risque text. The two had struck up a steady stream of conversation whilst Stiles was in college, starting as simple requests, into full-blown inane questions about everything from the weather to matters of the pack back in Beacon Hills. Once Stiles had returned from college, Peter had been there, smiles and witty remarks making Stiles form a lazy interest. He wouldn't act on it, but the time the two spent together was pleasant, and it didn't hurt that Peter was painfully handsome.
But still, Peter didn't feel the same way. It wasn't worth dwelling on.
Startled from his thoughts, Stiles felt another buzz from his phone, Peter again.
Don't flatter yourself, darling. We have a guest, he wants to speak to you.
A guest? Whilst the Hales frequently entertained other packs and supernatural allies and friends alike, they were usually ones that Stiles himself had planned and was aware of. Cursing himself for his carelessness, Stiles thought back to the past day, and if there had been anyone, supernatural or not, crossing his sigils who had violent or evil intent, but knew there'd been none.
Almost as if he'd been reading his thoughts, Peter sent another text.
Don't worry, he doesn't bite.
Stiles laughed quietly, tapping out a response.
Well, in that case, I guess I am. Pick me up? Jeeps broke :(
...Give me one reason why you still own the thing. And yes, only if you bring that banana bread you make?
Deal, but don't hurt Roscoe's feelings like that!!!
Roscoe is an inanimate object, which I daresay has no opinion on the matter, but I'll allow it... I'll be there at five.
See ya then, creeperwolf
Setting the phone on the side the amusement of using the old endearment fresh on his mind, Stiles surveyed the apartment, noting the crumbs and general disarray that had seeped into the place. The past few days had blurred together, the routine of planning, sleeping, researching and writing causing the apartment's cleanliness to take a back seat.
With a cringe at the frankly hazardous stack of pots piled precariously next to the sink, he set about cleaning the space. Throwing open the windows, he refused to think about the reason he was spurred into the cleaning frenzy, the text from a certain wolf. He was just getting out of his slump, dammit! The two weren't connected, and anyway, who wouldn't want their living space to be clean when a friend came over?
By the time that evening had rolled around, Stiles sat slightly impatiently on the freshly cleaned couch, twisting an intricately decorated ring around his finger. The scent of freshly baked cake lingered through the apartment, where on the counter sat multiple tightly packed containers of various baked goods. He was a stress baker.
Feeling a warm pulse, deep in his chest, he perked up as a familiar figure passed the sigils he'd placed outside of the apartment. Standing abruptly, he smoothed his clothes down and quietly cursed at an unseen stain blossoming on his shirt. Letting his brow furrow, he pulled at the deep well of power inside him, feeling a whisp of its strength come to the surface, making the stain pull back in small tendrils until it disappeared as if it had never been there at all.
Just then, he heard a knock at the door, causing him to jump. He cursed his inability to calmly navigate life, even after coming into his powers. After a stilted second, he opened the door, Peter stood on the other side, twirling a set of car keys around his finger.
"Hey," Stiles said, after a second of the two standing in silence.
"Hey," Peter replied, an insufferable smirk on his face. Peering inside, he wordlessly looked around. "Looks like you cleaned up, expecting someone special?" He quirked, making Stiles scoff and flail, before pulling the door open.
"Wanna help bring some of the food?" He jerked his head at the counter behind him, Peter following the motion and letting out a surprised laugh.
"Are you feeding us for the next month?"
Stiles scoffed, letting Petter in and swiftly loading him up with containers of food. "More like, I'm catering to a wolf pack," He replied drily. Peter nodded, in agreement with the statement.
As Stiles handed him one of the last boxes, Peter looked down, raising an eyebrow in signature Hale fashion. "Bringing out the big guns, I see?" Stiles tracked his gaze, following it to his hand, specifically the adorned, wooden ring. It was an ancient totem of power and protection, one Stiles had come to favour in any situation he felt he needed its powers, from battles to the tensions of pack disputes, it had boosted his skills to impossibly higher levels. Some would call it overpreparation, but it came from experience, he thought grimly.
"Well, you wouldn't tell me who we're visiting" He defended "I like to be prepared," Hoisting the final bag of baked goods onto his shoulder, Stiles ushered Peter out of the apartment and shut the door behind him.
"If he meant any harm to us, you'd know," Peter offered, fixing him with a knowing stare.
Stiles faltered, looking back helplessly back at Peter. "I just- I like to be prepared, y'know? Beacon Hills has been settled for years, but-" Peter cut him off, placing his hand firmly on the back of his neck, and squeezing slightly. The feeling spread through Stiles body, a warmth that he felt through the pack bond- and something else that he wasn't ready to think about too hard.
"I get it, sweetheart, if you want the protection, then I think you should bring it," Peter said, his tone sincere, before turning light once again. "Let's go before the pack gets hungry enough to eat our new guest,"
Feeling Peter's hand slide off his neck, Stiles shrugged off his impending nerves and hummed in agreement, following him to his car. The night was warm, the sun just starting to lower in the sky and the air turning crisp after the summer heat. It didn't stop him from feeling the absence of Peter's hand on his neck, though, the space burning like a brand.
They drove in companionable silence, sometimes exchanging a few words but mostly basking in the silence, most likely the last they would get of it for a few hours once they arrived at the Hale house.
As the road ended, Peter turned into the large, oval driveway in front of the now grand house, small features re-imagined from the original Hale house and intertwined into the new, stronger structure. The exterior was cosy, made of dark timbers and brick. Although having only stood for close to three years, the building looked as though it had been in the clearing for decades, thanks to Stiles careful coaxing of the flora and fauna that now clung to the bricks, entwined around the pillars and sprouted beside the steps with startling beauty. The place was home, even for those in the pack who didn't live there.
Feeling his nerves begin to rise, Stiles jumped as Peter killed the engine, the only sound the soft ticking of the engine and the soft sound of woodland creatures dwelling in the nearby forest.
"You ready?" Peter asked, once again fixing Stiles with a firm stare.
Stiles took a second to breathe, unclenching his fists and twiddling the ring around his finger. He was strong, even without the ring. No matter the person inside, he was prepared. He was the emissary and chief negotiator of the mighty Hale pack, dammit!
"Yeah, I've got this" He replied, flicking Peter a small smile before stepping out of the car, retrieving the baked goods and heading for the door. Peter followed close behind.
As they reached the door, it swung open and a polished-looking Erica greeted them with an easy smile. "Hey!" Her eyes lit up as they landed on the pile of containers in their arms, stepping forward to take one and experimentally opening the lid, only stopping when the lid magically closed with a twist of Stiles' finger.
"Hi to you, too, Catwoman," Stiles chuckled, standing on the deck, dawdling in front of the door before Peter pressed a hand onto the small of his back, making him jump. Giving him a brief smile, he went over the threshold, following an exuberant Erica with slightly less enthusiasm.
Mulling over her behaviour, he reasoned that the visitor was no risk to the pack, or Beacon Hills because she seemed truly at ease. So, if not someone here to tear them down, who was their visitor?
Stepping into the house, Stiles turned down the corridor and into the kitchen, setting down the containers he was holding and letting out a soothing breath. Peter placed his own containers next to him and placed a guiding hand on his elbow, steering him towards the dining room.
"Lets hear what our guest has to say, hmm?"
Stiles nodded, more inquisitve than nervous, now. As they entered the room, numerous faces turned towards them, conversation lulling before starting once more with gusto.
"Stiles! Hey!" Scott piped up, looking as eager as ever.
"Did you bring apple crumble? I've been craving it," Erica supplied,
And then, another voice. "Ah, just the person I've been waiting for!"
Stiles looked over, a surprised grin breaking over his face as he saw the man it had come from. "Marques, hey! What are you doing so far from your pack, are you still travelling? What brings you to Beacon Hills?" Stepping forward, he spared brief hugs and grins for his pack members, before focusing his attention back on the grinning man in front of him.
Marques let out a full-bellied laugh, his face lighting up with the warmth of a genuine smile. His hair was greying at the temples, his hair curled in coils close to his head, shorter than the longer afro Stiles remembered from a few years ago when the two had met at a lecture on species diversity in werewolf packs in college. He had to be in his late fifties, but had aged well- his strong stature softened slightly by age.
The two embraced, a quick hug as the others watched in curiosity. "I'll save what I have to say for dinner, hmm? Let's catch up, for now!" For the next while, as dinner was prepared and brought into the room, Stiles introduced Marques to the pack, who accepted him with welcoming but increasingly curious glances.
As Marques got into a friendly debate with Isaac over some subject they had in common, Derek pulled Stiles to the side, a question clear on his face as he turned to him. "How do you know Marques, is he-" He halted, thinking of how to word his question. "Is he good?"
Whilst Derek had never been a man of many words, he had blossomed into a calm and respected leader, known nationally as the leader of the fearless, powerful and reborn Hale pack, something that had taken him years to achieve. Seeing him now, Stiles smiled, a surge of pride overcoming him at the man he saw before him.
"We met in college, he was in my supernatural studies class- he started college late- he's the second in command of the Alfaro pack up in Wyoming, I guess he had his hands full, huh," Stiles rambled to him, waving off the final words with a flap of his hand after Derek quirked a brow. "He's a good guy, Derek, I don't know what he's here for, but he was a good advisor to me over my time there, I'll try and help him if I can,"
Derek looked at him for a second, and Stiles stared back, his gaze genuine. Almost as if he'd been judging his sincerity, Derek finally nodded, turning back to the dining room, where the smell of freshly cooked food was wafting in.
"Then we'll support him too," He said, his tone final. With a small smile, he walked into the room, summoning the others to seat themselves at the table. Stiles followed suit with a surge of relief, and warmth at how seriously Derek had taken his opinion. Whilst he'd been his emissary for months now, it was still nice knowing his judgment mattered.
On entering the room, Stiles watched as Boyd carried in a steaming plate of roasted vegetables, followed by Isaac, who held another laden plate. As everyone sat around the table, the hubbub quieted as Derek sat at the head of the table, gesturing to the others to fill their plates.
Peter sat down next to Stiles, who was across from Marques. Stiles looked over at Peter and gave him a grin, which Peter returned in a more restrained and polite manner. Of course, if anything, Peter was a stickler for pack tradition.
"Thank you for having me, Alpha Hale," Marques smiled warmly at Derek, the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling at the movement. Derek nodded back, smiling at the formality. "Any friend of the packs is always welcome, and call me Derek," Marques nodded, and Derek began to eat. A lull fell once more before the pack picked up their own forks and began to eat- then followed by their guest.
After some time of polite conversation and catching up, Stiles returned to the reason for Marques' visit. "So, I hear you wanted to talk to me about something?" Stiles ventured setting his fork down with a clink. The others quieted, watching the newcomer with curious eyes once more.
With a nod, Marques took a sip of his drink, as though sorting through his thoughts and trying to work out how to approach the situation. "I do, and it's something I wouldn't ask of you if I wasn't sure you'd be interested in the job,"
Stiles tilted his head, confused. Peter narrowed his eyes, whilst Derek and the others listened in silence, baying the visitor to continue.
"Job?" Stiles prompted.
"One of our kids has just come into his spark, Aadrik, his name is," Marques starts, making Stiles nod, unsure where the proposition is going.
"He's powerful and he doesn't know how to control it. He reminds me of you, sometimes," Marques chuckled, making Stiles laugh as the others listened on inquisitively.
"And you're asking me to- what? Give him a few pointers?" Stiles asked, a thrill of excitement shooting up through his stomach. "I can do that! I've learnt a lot, and I'd love to help the kid to have a better time than I had," He said earnestly, already mentally running through any tips and advice he could send to this Aadrik.
Marques paused, taking a breath. "Well, I was hoping you'd be interested in a bit more than that...it's been hard for our emissary, Sara, to train him, because of his power, so we were wondering if you'd be interested in coming for an extended visit, to be his tutor,"
The table was silent. Derek stared, his face blank as Scott's frown deepened to one of worry. Stiles's mouth was agape as he tried to muster the words to reply. After sputtering a few times, Marques hurried to expand his offer.
"You don't have to decide straight away, of course," He offered, "And you'd be paid! I couldn't expect you to do this for free," Peter turned to Stiles and asked a silent question, Stiles looked back helplessly. "Bring another member of the pack, any are welcome if you'd like," Marques smiled at the others.
Erica looked dubious, whilst Isaac had suddenly found an intense interest in his broccoli. Boyd remained impassive, as he often did. But Stiles knew his brain was ticking over the events, processing them and forming his own opinion, one he'd definitely voice later once Marques had left.
"Hey, look, it's...a lot to think about," Stiles mumbled, rubbing a hand over his neck, his eyes faraway. "I'll...think about it?" He said weakly, making Marques nod graciously.
"Of course," The newcomer nodded, turning back to his meal. The others resumed eating, this time in a more silent manner. As the meal progressed, the others began to pipe up, voicing their own questions and grilling Marques.
"Where would he stay?" Derek asked brusquely.
"We have a few guest cabins, one of those, definitely. They're equipped with any modern needs you could possibly have,"
"How olds the kid?" Isaac.
"He's just turned fourteen,"
"Where in Wyoming?"
"On the border of the Black Hills National Forest, it's beautiful there, hundreds of miles of forest and woodland,"
"How long would he go for?"
"Three months, give or take,"
"Three months?!"
"Hmm," Peter seemed dubious, just as the others did. The questions continued until the meal ended, when Derek stood, making Marques do the same as the two shook hands, flashing their eyes- Derek's a cold blue and Marques' a piercing yellow.
"Stay the night, it's a long journey back, we can make this decision on another day" Derek offered, nodding to the dark skies outside the house. The others looked surprised but masked it quickly. It had taken years for Derek to be comfortable with guests in the Hale house, but it showed new maturity that he was offering one to stay the night, something the others knew was a huge step for him. Peter spared a smile for his nephew, sending a warmth of happiness through the pack bond towards him, one Derek tentatively returned.
The visitor nodded graciously, a look of quiet relief on his weary face, the evening had been an intense one, surely a source of nerves for the man. "If you'll have me, I'd love to,"
Stiles scrambled forward, clapping a hand on Derek's shoulder and smiling eagerly at Marques, who grinned at the interaction. "I'll show him his room, Der?" Derek nodded, baying the pair a goodnight before directing the rest of the pack to clear up the table and gather in the lounge.
Leading Marques up the stairs and down the softly-lit corridor, Stiles turned back to fix him with another look. Reading his expression, he saw fatigue, worry and hope. The man really cared for this kid, then.
"Hows Aadrik doing?" Stiles asked quietly, making Marques sigh.
"He's really struggling, he's a human born to two wolves, none of us expected him to be a spark, it's been hard for Sara, our emissary, to help him," He said, his tone heavy. Stiles nodded and opened the door to one of the numerous guest rooms, flicking the switch and illuminating the cosy, timbre interior with a soft glow.
"I'd love to help, I would, I just-! He swallowed, "I just don't know if I can leave,"
Marques stilled and nodded, an understanding smile on his face. "I understand, you've not been back long, and things must be busy right now," The two lapsed into an easy silence as Marques sat on the bed, Stiles leaning against the doorframe. "You can make the visit back to see your pack anytime- and they're always welcomed at our home," He added, Stiles nodding in relief.
"I really need to think about it," Stiles ventured, grabbing the door handle and backing out the room. "We'll talk more tomorrow but-" He smiled, a small tendril of excitement planting itself deep in his gut. "-it sounds exciting! Things have been quiet recently, I'd really like to help," With the last sentence, he bade the visitor goodnight and returned downstairs to the others.
Scott was the first to approach him, halting guiltily as he stuffed the rest of one of the cookies Stiles had brought into his mouth and chewed furiously. Stiles scoffed, waiting against the counter for him to finish.
"So, what are you thinking?" Scott asked after a while, leaning against Stiles along the counter.
With a hum, Stiles shrugged, feeling helpless once more. "I...I really don't know, Scotty, but I'm leaning towards yes," He said, whispering the last part so that the no doubt closely listening pack didn't hear it.
Scotts eyes widened as he struggled to find what to say. "If you don't video chat me at least once a week, I'm sending over the rescue squad," He said, in the end, his tone grim.
Stiles punched him in the shoulder with a laugh, then winced. "Of course, love you, Scotty," He gave him a side-hug and turned to the door, his heart warm.
Derek tapped him silently, making him jump, eyes wide. "Thanks for the warning," He grumbled, before wilting into the tight hug Derek gave him. The two stood silently, content in the embrace as Stiles took a second to breathe.
After a while, Derek spoke. "We can visit, and talk regularly- and send stuff," He offered, his tone gruff. Stiles pulled back and fixed him with a bleary smile. He saw the doubt the alpha had, no doubt feeling hesitant at letting his emissary travel so far, into the arms of an unknown application.
"Yeah, this could work, Sourwolf," He replied as his thoughts picked up speed at the activities and exercises he could do with the kid to
help him control his spark. Derek nodded tightly, making Stiles give him another, shorter hug. "We'll talk about it tomorrow?" After an affirming nod, Stiles left, seeking out Peter.
He found him sat on the front steps, staring out at the forest-line at the edge of the clearing.
"Hey," He said, sitting gingerly next to him.
"Miss me?" Peter asked, echoing his earlier words, his tone dry.
Stiles rolled his eyes, trying not to lean into the sure-to-be warmth of the wolf next to him, instead wrapping his arms around himself and shrugging. "Well, you're my ride, so..." He trailed off, turning to see Peter when he didn't reply.
The wolf stood abruptly, making Stiles scramble to do the same. "So I am, let's get you home then," His tone was clipped, making Stiles gut clench uncomfortably as he realised he'd said something wrong.
As they drove back, they sat in silence, this one more heavy, both from their last words and the topic at the dinner table. As Peter slowed to a stop outside of the Stilinski residence, he turned and fixed Stiles with a stare.
"Take your time and think about your decision, darling," He said, tone dry. "Maybe I'll come too, to keep you out of trouble," With a smirk, he drove off, leaving Stiles stood in shock on the path, head spinning at the words.
A holiday with Peter Hale...there was no way this could end well.