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Ever since that fateful day in early spring, when a newly resurrected wolf had been the only one to notice that Stiles was quite obviously not okay, the passage of time had gained a decidedly surreal touch. It seemed to have both slowed down to a maddening crawl and sped up so much that Stiles sometimes felt lightheaded when he thought about how much had changed in the last three months.
Case in point: Today marked the fourth day in a row that he woke up slightly overheated yet strangely rested. He really didn’t want to use the word anchored, but it was annoyingly fitting.
He knew all about what anchors meant to wolves, of course, but he had to admit that he worried about apparently needing one himself. What for, though? He was still human. As far as anyone knew, at least.
But whatever strange circumstances kept giving him that feeling, it worked wonders. Because as little as a month ago, he’d have panicked had he woken up like this. Now, though, he’d reached almost zen-like composure and didn’t bother freaking out anymore. Why worry over things he couldn’t change? He needed his energy for other things.
“You’re thinking too loud. Go back to sleep,” demanded an exhausted voice from the side of the bed Stiles wasn’t facing.
“Excuse me? Last time I checked, this was still my room, and I can think as loudly as I want at… ten in the morning while I’m here. If you want to sleep undisturbed, go back home.”
It said a lot about his mental state that the rebuke had come out teasing. That was no way to get rid of the complaining burr currently attached to his back.
“But it’s more comfortable here.”
“How so? This bed is narrow enough that my regular flailing sometimes ends with me almost landing on the floor. I’d have thought you’d prefer a better mattress, too.”
“It’s not the bed… it’s the company.”
And Stiles just knew this answer was honest. It had been admitted reluctantly enough to be anything else. That was the only reason, by the way. He wouldn’t touch the sense of bone-deep certainty that resided somewhere behind his sternum with a ten-foot pole. That way lay a kind of madness he wasn’t prepared to deal with yet.
“So is this going to be a regular thing now? Do I need to remind you who my father is? How attached are you to staying in the land of the living?”
“Can I answer these questions later, when I’m more awake?”
The asshole didn’t even wait for an answer before falling asleep again. With two arms around his midsection keeping him firmly in place, Stiles reached for his phone and resigned himself to an hour or more of mindless browsing. Better than giving his thoughts free rein and getting frustrated about the things that were making no progress at all.
~
He must have dozed off himself at some point because the next thing he knew, he startled awake when his phone rang right next to his ear, where it apparently had slipped from his hand.
He groped for it and blindly accepted the call.
“‘lo?”
“Where are you right now?”
His father sounded faintly annoyed, which was puzzling because, for once, Stiles didn’t remember having done anything that would warrant the tone.
“At home…”
“Why haven’t you replied to any of my texts then?”
A valid question, he had to admit, as he tended to ignore his father if he was out and about, doing… uh… borderline illegal stuff.
“You just woke me up, actually. Haven’t seen them yet.”
“Do we have to have that talk about regular sleep schedules again?”
No. But he couldn’t really say, “it’s all Peter’s fault for not letting me get up at a less lazy hour”, could he? Not if he didn’t want to be grounded for the rest of his summer break. The break that had started less than two weeks ago, by the way. Hard pass!
“Eh, I’d say I’m allowed a cheat day every once in a while.”
“I’ll be remembering that wording. And you’ll have nobody to blame but yourself.”
“That’s absolutely not the same!” Stiles protested indignantly. And he’d have said more on the matter if there hadn’t suddenly been a commotion at the other end.
“Check your texts,” dad said, already sounding distracted, “and reply.”
“Soon-ish. Promise.”
“Incorrigible!”
“You know it,” Stiles grinned. “See you later.”
As soon as the call disconnected, he became aware that he was alone in the room. That realization should have been accompanied by relief because it should have meant not having to analyze how little his new closeness to Peter, of all people, bothered him. He was a fan of ignoring a problem until it went away, after all.
But just because the man wasn’t in the room anymore didn’t mean he had actually left. In fact, Stiles could say with absolute confidence that he was still in the house. And not because he could hear him or because there were any clues in the room. No, Stiles felt it. Like something of a proximity alert. That was new and really, really overwhelming. He wanted to switch it off. Immediately, please!
Just his continued rotten luck, though, that it didn’t work like that. So he did the next best thing and went to look for the wandering wolf. Hopefully, that would get him some answers.
~
Stiles found Peter in the kitchen, preparing a veritable mountain of food.
“Are you gonna restock that before my father notices that half of this week’s groceries are gone?”
“I’m sure he’ll be glad I helped myself to the greens.”
“The one ration of bacon, too, though. He’ll love you for that. To death.”
“Eh, he’d be using mundane methods. I’m not too worried.”
“I’m this close to telling him everything. You wouldn’t be safe for much longer. Better don’t test my patience.”
That made Peter look up from his task with narrowed eyes.
“You’d be that petty?”
“Over food? No. But the search for Erica and Boyd is going far too slowly. It’s been months, and I’ve been fairly patient so far, doing the sensible thing by letting law enforcement handle it. But at this rate, I’m worried that mundane methods won’t work. It’s probably high time to give him all the facts.”
“You’re still this attached to the deserters? I told you they don’t deserve your loyalty.”
“And I told you I don’t care. No matter what they’ve done, they deserve being in mortal danger even less.”
“You don’t know that they’re in danger, though.”
“I’ll repeat it until you believe it if I have to: If they were safe, they’d have let me know somehow. You weren’t in that basement with us. You’ll have to trust my judgment on this. Besides,” Stiles pressed on to cut off the remark he knew Peter was gearing up for, “we both know there’s another pack in town. Derek may not want to talk to us about it, but he’s worried. And that makes me worried, too, because dad is out there, still working on a missing persons case which might be connected to those wolves coming here without observing proper etiquette. Tell me he won’t be in danger if he crosses their path and they turn out to be involved in the case.”
Peter’s silence was all the answer Stiles needed. It made his frustration worse, but he could also understand Peter’s reluctance to spill his secrets to someone who was bound by a vastly different moral code.
“Look, I wouldn’t even consider telling him if that other pack hadn’t waltzed into town while he’s still out there looking for Erica and Boyd. But his ignorance is becoming a risk now. Nobody can guarantee he won’t stumble into supernatural shenanigans at this point. I’d rather brave him wanting to be part of everything if it means he’s prepared.”
“I know,” Peter sighed. “I can’t say I like it, but I can understand the need to keep your remaining family safe. It’s just going to complicate a few things. Because he’s still a man of the law. Think about how all of this will look to him. How easily do you think he’ll accept ‘instincts’ as a reason and promise to stay out of it?”
There was real worry on his face, plus a squirrely kind of evasion that pulled Stiles up short. Peter noticed and started fidgeting, which… Since when did Peter fidget?
It was then that Stiles realized with a start that what he’d meant to be a teasing remark upon entering the kitchen had gotten rather out of hand. It had drastically changed the tone from earlier that morning, and he suddenly felt bad that he’d let himself be carried away by his agitation. He’d like to blame it on his father’s phone call, but he knew himself better than that.
“I’m sorry,” he offered as sincerely as he could. “The lack of progress in the investigation and the added danger are getting to me. Which is no excuse for targeting you, I know. And I really shouldn’t have treated telling dad like it’s a punishment for you. You didn’t do anything wrong. Apart from, maybe, breaking and entering for nightly snuggles.”
And up went Peter’s shoulders again, when they’d only just relaxed. Damn! Better shelf that conversation and distract Cagey Wolf, for now.
“So, when’s lunch gonna be ready? I’m starving!”
~
A few days later, Stiles was slowly going out of his mind. He had yet to talk to his father because he didn’t know how to tell him without it potentially going very pear-shaped. But the longer he waited, the more stressed out he became and the harder it was to think of arguments that would make the whole show-and-tell go more smoothly.
It was a vicious cycle, made worse by the fact that Peter’s temper had been declining, too. Stiles had the sneaking suspicion that this might be his own fault, though. Because the more time they spent together, the more Stiles was convinced that their moods were feeding off each other. Just thinking about what that might mean made something squirm anxiously in his gut. But despite his experience as a werewolf guru, he was well aware he was no expert—not the way a born wolf would be.
So maybe it was time to tackle this problem, as it became increasingly clear that it wouldn’t go away if he ignored it. He needed reliable answers, and he needed them pronto if he didn’t want to have the nervous breakdown he was hurtling towards right now.
~
Stiles caved and tried to research the mood phenomenon on his own since Peter had… well, not really avoided him for almost two days, but he’d been prickly enough the few times they’d interacted that Stiles hadn’t dared to ask his questions.
Tonight, he’d gone to bed when it became clear that the internet wouldn’t be the least bit helpful. It’d been earlier than usual, but he’d felt so drained from his lack of success that he hadn’t known what else to do. Not that his brain was letting him rest…
So he was only half asleep when Peter slipped into his room just after two. The relief he felt when Peter climbed into the bed with a heavy sigh, pulled him close, and nuzzled his shoulder was just a bit dizzying. And so, so calming. Finally, his spinning thoughts were slowing down, and he felt content again.
“So, what’s with this need to be close, all the time? Why am I all antsy when you’re not around?”
Stiles winced. Apparently, it also switched off his brain-to-mouth filter.
Peter froze. Which was not what Stiles wanted, so he squeezed the hand that was splayed across his chest and added: “I just want to understand. I figured it’s something werewolf-related, which you would be the resident expert on. At least, the only one I have the slightest chance of getting an honest answer from.”
“And Google has failed you,” Peter said, rather drily.
“And Google has failed me, yeah.”
“I’m not surprised. This is not something we want the wrong people to find out about. It’s pack-only knowledge. And I’m not sure how much you’ll like what it means.”
“Can’t be worse than what my overactive brain comes up with.”
“Do I want to know?”
“Better not, I think. I’m probably pretty far off anyway. So I’m really hoping you’ll just tell me. Rip off the bandaid, if you will.”
The silence that followed his request made Stiles wonder if Peter would answer at all. But then…
“You’re my alpha.”
… Who even needed to breathe? Not Stiles, apparently.
Who knew his heart could gallop this fast? Also not Stiles.
And would the loud buzzing in his ears go away again? At this point, it was hard to tell.
“What?” he squeaked. “How does that even work? I’m human.”
“Doesn’t matter to my wolf,” Peter admitted, reflexively tightening his hold. “You accept me. You care. You’re catering to my instincts. And for some odd reason, I feel safe around you. I can rest when you’re around.”
It sounded so much like what Stiles was feeling that his breathing hitched for an entirely different reason. It was kind of awesome to have someone who understood. As far as he was concerned, though, that made them equal. Which begged the question…
“But how does that make me your alpha? I’m younger than you. I know almost nothing about packs. I’ve fucked up more than once since—” he paused to gesture vaguely at the two of them, “this started. And I have absolutely no illusions of being the one who calls the shots.”
“That’s—” Peter took a shuddering breath and started over. “In a healthy pack, that’s not what an alpha does. Calling the shots, I mean. That’s for perilous situations, during which the pack needs guidance and reassurance that the danger will be dealt with. It’s then that you see something like a military structure emerge. But apart from that? An alpha nurtures and supports and knows when to ask for support in return. They’re what holds the pack together. The linchpin. Someone approachable. Someone trusted.”
“And you seriously think that’s me?”
“This may have started with me wanting to keep you safe and to provide for you, simply because you were loyal when everyone else was looking out only for themselves. But I’ve been craving a real pack since I came back, and I know I can’t be the alpha such a pack needs. My qualities lie elsewhere. So, who else would I turn to? There’s no trust between Derek and me, which I can freely admit is my fault just as much as it is his. And he’s still in crisis mode. After six years in a coma and my stint as an alpha hell-bent on revenge, I need something different.”
“And you latched onto a high schooler who doesn’t really know what he’s doing, most of the time. I’m sorry, dude. That’s rough.”
“Don’t call me dude! And don’t sell yourself short, either. Of all the potential pack members in the area, you’re the only one who provides some kind of stability. I don’t ever have to worry about your commitment. And the times you ‘fucked up’ I’d call growing pains. You are still young, and you’ve known about the supernatural world for just over half a year. Considering the circumstances, you’re doing really well.”
Well, considering the circumstances, Stiles was allowed to tear up over this declaration, wasn’t he? Here was a guy, several years his senior, more knowledgeable and much more dangerous than him on top of that, and he was still willing to give up control to have that connection. Stiles was aware of how much trust Peter was putting in him, here. It was humbling, to say the least.
He turned around and pressed his forehead to Peter’s shoulder.
“You’ll tell me when I’m about to do something wrong?”
“You haven’t needed me to tell you so far.”
“Now that I know I’m your alpha, I might start worrying about more things than I did before. And when I worry, I sometimes do irrational things. So, please… Will you just tell me? I promise I can take it.”
“Okay. I promise.”
“Thank you!”
“I don’t think you’ll need reminders all that often, though. One of the advantages of the bond is that we both can read each other’s moods pretty accurately. It is possible to mask, to a degree, and distance is a factor, too. But all in all, you’ll be able to tell if I’m upset.”
“You don’t sound one hundred percent happy about that.”
“It’s going to take some time to get used to someone being that attuned to me again. I might not always be comfortable letting you know what might have upset me. You probably know the feeling.”
Unfortunately, yes. Being honest about his own well-being wasn’t Stiles’ strongest skill.
“Guess we’ll both have to practice.”
Peter’s quiet chuckle vibrated through Stiles and made warmth bloom in his chest. His beta—and wasn’t this mind-blowing?—was happy, which made him happy and feeling settled for the first time in months. For once, his mind wasn’t in overdrive, letting him bask in the sense of belonging. That alone was worth all the other troubles he knew lay ahead of them.
After all, he was a new alpha in another, more experienced, and currently very high-strung alpha’s territory. Given all the other circumstances, pack politics promised to be complicated. And who knew how the dynamics would shift once they told his father? Which had just become an even more urgent matter than it had already been because there was no way in hell he’d be able to keep acting like nothing had happened. Sometimes, having an observant sheriff as a parent was really inconvenient, wasn’t it?
But that was a problem for later, when they were rested, and his father was back from his shift. For now, he’d enjoy the calm before the storm, secure in the knowledge he wouldn’t have to face whatever was about to come alone.