Archive of Our Own

DAY 1

THE ANTIQUARIUM

CLOSED FOR REMODELING

WILL REOPEN UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT

NOT GOLD

WILL OPEN IN THREE WEEKS

UNLESS THE CONSTRUCTION WORKERS ARE IDIOTS

AGAIN

THEN IT’LL BE CLOSER TO FOUR WEEKS

SEE YOU SOON!

Peter glances at the sign as he passes the shop. Then he has to take a few steps back to the shop and reread the sign a couple times to make sure he read what he thought he read. 

He had known that The Antiquarium was up for sale, Harris has been trying to get out of this town for years now and Peter is all too happy to see him gone. He’d seen the For Sale sign flip to Sold faster than he thought would happen though. It made him a little curious about the new owner.

After reading the sign printed on bright green paper stuck to the door with what looks like glittery Halloween stickers he’s more than just a little curious about the new owner. A shadow near the door flickers and he peers a little closer, trying to make out just what exactly moved. His phone buzzes in his pocket, most likely a text from Erica asking if he’s dragging his shapely ass to work today or if he’s taking another personal day to recover from the family reunion, and he shoves all thoughts about new owners and glittery stickers and flickering shadows to the back of his mind. 

He does slide a business card under the door before he heads down the block. He has his own business to run after all. He hasn’t gotten this far in life by passing up potential contacts, no matter how unusual they might turn out to be.

Erica throws a dirty bar towel at him when he steps through the door and he throws it right back at her.

“That rag is disgusting,” Peter says. “I can practically smell the booze on it from here.”

“You’re the one who won’t hire someone to fix the washer in the back,” Erica shoots back. “And I sure as shit am not your maid.” Peter opens his mouth and Erica glares at him. “If you even think the word ‘barmaid’ in my direction I will castrate you with this bar spoon.”

“No respect. Remind me why I hired you again?”

“Because the bikers love me, the vendors are terrified of me, and your sister hates me because she thinks you’re fucking me.”

Peter thinks about that for a second and then nods. “Oh. Yeah.” He grabs the bundle of receipts that Erica hands out to him. “I sometimes forget that according to sister dearest I have been fucking you since before you were legal.”

Erica snickers. “The closest thing you’ve ever gotten to that is fucking me over last summer when you scared off our help the weekend before the big party downtown.”

Peter rolls his eyes and skims the papers in his hand. “For which I compensated you for greatly, apologized tremendously, and groveled for your forgiveness for three and a half weeks.”

“Yeah,” Erica hums happily, eyes going distant and hazy. “That was a good three and a half weeks.”

“The last time someone had that tone with me, had that look in their eyes, I did fuck them.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Erica asks as he makes his way towards the office. “Cause either way it was kinda hot.”

Peter eyes the pile of dirty rags sitting outside his office door and then leans back out of the hallway.

“If you know someone who can fix the washer then call them. I am not taking those disgusting things back to my place again.”

“Thanks, Boss,” Erica calls back.

DAY 11

Stiles flips the business card in his hand a few more times and stares at the shadows crawling across the ceiling of his office. He had just put up the sign in the door and stepped back to start poking at what had been left in the shop when a shadow fell across the floor at his feet.

He had watched the man backtrack to the door and read the sign, head tilted as his eyes flickered over the letters and then caught on the stickers Stiles had used to stick it up. They weren’t his first choice but Allison had hid all his tape out of payback that he totally didn’t deserve thank you very much and the only thing that had been delivered to his new office had been his computer, his printer, and a box filled with glittery craft supplies.

Then the man slipped the business card under the door and headed down the block.

That was just over a week ago and Stiles still isn’t sure what to think about it all.

He looks down at the card again and runs his fingers along the business name before flipping it over and reading the name printed on the back.

He knows the Hales. Knows the kinds of people they are, the kinds of things they get into, the kinds of businesses they run.

Jimmy’s Beachside Cabana certainly doesn’t fit the general Hale aesthetic he’s come to know over the years. Though from what little he knows about Peter Hale — the apparent owner of said beachside cabana which is blatantly lacking any nearby beaches — he doesn’t really fit the Hale aesthetic much either.

But there’s Peter’s name, staring up at him from the back of the card stating that Jimmy’s Beachside Cabana is open for business from 3PM to midnight, four days a week.

Anyway.

He knows the Hales. Knows who and what they are.

That being said, nothing in Peter’s possession should have been able to make its way through Stiles’ wards. Even as simple as they had been that first day.

A black shape darts out of the shadow in the corner and leaps onto his lap, sniffing at the card in his hand a few times before sneezing.

“What do you think, Lulu?” The sleek black fox in his lap yawns and flops across lap. “Really? Well that’s new.”

Clearly Lulu doesn’t think Peter Hale is a threat. Which is strange but at least now he knows how Peter managed to slip the card into the shop.

“I told you not to mess with my wards,” Stiles says to Lulu as he stands and drops the fox on his desk. “I have them for a reason.”

Lulu blinks up at him, yips twice and then Stiles is shoving her to the floor before she can piss on the construction invoices he has on his desk. For the third time this week.

“I know you don’t like them,” he says as he stuffs the papers into a desk drawer. “I don’t either. But until Boyd manages to become foreman and get rid of his boss there’s not a whole hell of a lot we can do about them. Boyd’s the only one I trust to gut this place and redo it the way it needs to be done. It’s not his fault he works with a bunch of numbnuts.”

Lulu yips indignantly and nips his ankle before disappearing back into the shadows in the corner.

“No I’m not counting Isaac as a numbnut for fuck’s sake. I swear you like him better than you like me.”

There’s no response, not that Stiles expected one this time, and he shoves the business card in his pocket before he sets his wards and leaves the shop.

Jimmy’s Beachside Cabana is only a couple blocks away and, Stiles glances around, there’s still not a beach in sight. Not that he expected one, not really. But he’s been around enough weird shit in his life to double check even the most impossible seeming things because you just never know. He double checks the time on his phone, 12:17PM, and pushes the door open with a shrug; Peter had written ‘stop by anytime’ on the card under his name after all.

“Bar’s closed,” a voice calls out as Stiles steps inside.

“Awesome. I’m not old enough to drink anyway,” Stiles calls back. He’s pleasantly surprised to see that the distinct lack of beach extends to the inside of the bar. It looks more like what he imagines a typical hole-in-the-wall sort of place to be. It’s almost cozy.

“Oh!” Stiles glances over as a girl pops up from behind the bar and waves at him. “That’s good cause I don’t actually work here. I’m just fixing a couple things.” She gestures around the bar with the screwdriver in her hand. “Wait, if you're not old enough to drink are you even allowed in here? How old are you? How did you get in here?”

“The bar’s not open and you could technically say I’m here on business so we’re good. I’m twenty, not that anyone ever guesses it right. I’ve been told I look like I’m seventeen and twenty-seven in the same day. And I came in through the door. Like most people do.”

“Huh,” the girl says, scratching her head with the tip of her screwdriver. “I coulda swore I locked that when I came in.”

Stiles has no idea who this girl is. But he likes her. He likes her energy. He likes her attitude.

“You said you’re fixing a couple things here? What kind of work do you do? I just bought a place down the block and I could use someone other than the construction crew to help me with a few things.”

Two hours later Stiles is sprawled in a booth with Kira across from him. He decided over an hour ago that he was totally hiring her, if she took his job offer anyway, and now he’s laughing as listening to her tell him about the time she was trying to fix someone’s porch railing and wound up running from an entire nest’s worth of wasps only to fall into a pool. 

Then the door is flung open and they both shoot up in their seats as Peter Hale stalks into the bar.

“Erica,” Peter snarls.

“She’s, uh, not here,” Kira says cautiously. Stiles glances from her to Peter, ready to slide out of the booth and put himself between them if needed, but she doesn’t seem worried at all. “It’s just been me and Stiles here since, like, noon?”

“What the hell is a Stiles?” Peter growls.

Kira points across the booth and Stiles waves lazily when Peter’s gaze snaps to him. Good to know that the charms woven into his jacket help mask his presence even from werewolves.

“I’m Stiles.”

Peter takes a deep breath, clearly composing himself, and lets it out slowly.

“You are aware we are closed, correct?”

Stiles pulls out the business card Peter had left and hands it over.

“You left me this last week. Thought I’d stop in and say hello. Legally I can’t be in here after you open for the day. Not for a couple more months anyway.” Peter’s eyes narrow. “Don’t worry. If anyone asks, I was here on business. Not that they would ask. But yeah. Name’s Stiles. I own Not Gold, the new antique place down the block. Hopefully once we open I’ll see you around there. I promise that it’s not all going to be old shit out of grandma’s attic.”

Stiles glances at his phone and realizes that it’s creeping closer to opening time for the bar than he realized. He slides out of the booth and gives Peter a smile.

“Well, Stiles, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Please feel free to come back. Preferably outside of business hours or after you turn twenty-one. You’re pretty. But not pretty enough to risk my business for.” Peter winks at him. “Not without getting to know you better, that is.”

DAY 27

STILES: you know generally i like to be wined and dined before being so thoroughly fucked but i'm kinda getting used to it

BOYD: You’re not old enough to be getting wined

BOYD: You’re still a young thing. A child. An infant. A wee babe.

ISAAC: pretty sure you’re also still a virgin. least that’s what those witches who tried to sacrifice you last month said.

STILES: must you both take things so literally?

STILES: the universe is metaphorically fucking me and your boss is telling it to go in dry

BOYD: Yeah sorry about that. I swear we’re doing our best. He’s just, well. You know.

ISAAC: He’s a piece of absolute shit who needs to be flushed down the universe’s toilet.

BOYD: What Isaac said.

Stiles snickers and tosses his phone onto his desk. Lulu nips at his wrist and lets out a soft bark before she grabs his phone in her mouth and hops off the desk with it. He really should stop her and get his phone back if for no other reason than because she’s really good at accidentally calling people and managing to get into the app store and buy a shit ton of apps he has no use for.

But that would require figuring out just where she disappeared to. Which seems like a lot of effort right now.

A knock at the door startles him into flailing out of his chair and cracking his elbow on his desk on the way down. He’s rubbing his elbow and softly cursing everything about his life when he feels his wards crackling softly, static electricity tickling across his skin. Not a warning. Just a twinge of curiosity poking at his magic.

A blonde he’s seen walking down the block a few different times is standing at the door and she wiggles her fingers in greeting when she spots him. He lets his magic flow out as he crosses to the door and he smiles when it comes back to tell him that she’s a werewolf. Of course she is. He can almost guarantee she’s one of Peter’s people.

He cracks the door open and peeks out at her.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” he says.

“I can see that. I take it the construction workers are being idiots?” She nods towards the sign on his door that still, unfortunately, lists the opening date of the store as approximately three weeks.

“Not all of them. But the majority of them, yeah.” Stiles sighs. “At this rate I’ll be having a joint birthday party and grand opening celebration. Which mostly blows cause I was really looking forward to finally getting drunk when I turned twenty-one.”

“And why wouldn’t you be able to?”

“Kinda bad form for the owner to be drunk at the grand opening, don’t you think?”

“I mean. At that point it would be kind of a ‘fuck you’ moment to the universe.” She shrugs. “Then again I work at a bar so, you know, I might be biased.”

His phone buzzes somewhere near the top of a set of curio cabinets that are either cursed or home to some sort of cabinet gremlin that hates him (he hasn’t been able to narrow it down any further than that yet) and he sighs.

“I should go. I gotta see if I can figure something out with the whole construction thing.”

“Well. If there’s anything we can do to help just ask. Peter’s a sucker for antiquities and old shit like that and can’t wait for the store to open and I am always happy to have people owe me favors.”

“Thanks, Erica,” he says distractedly as his phone buzzes again. This time it’s under the shelves he’s planning on remodeling to use as his checkout counter.

Once he finally digs his phone out from the middle of a stack of boxes — he has long since stopped trying to figure out just how it is that Lulu manages to do what all she manages to do and has accepted that as the manifestation of the chaos he had inside him all those years ago she’s just gonna do whatever the hell she wants in the end — he pulls up his messages and snorts.

SCOTTY: am i stilled banned from your dads house? cause i think i dropped my wallet when he chased me out last week after the water balloon incident 

UNKNOWN: This is Peter. I got your number from Kira. Erica is missing from her bartending duties which most likely means she is on her way to annoy you in that special way that only she manages to annoy people. Sorry in advance and if you see her tell her to get her ass back to work. 

He sends an affirmative to Scott and reassures him that he’ll ask about the safe return of his wallet but he makes no promises. Scott really made a mess with those water balloons. Though to be fair Stiles is the one who told Scott to fill them up with whipped cream. Not that his dad ever needs to know that part of it.

He saves Peter’s number and tells him that while he appreciates the warning it was too little, too late.

The automatic lights in his shop flicker on as the sun sets and he blinks in confusion a few times before he realizes that he’s spent most of the evening sprawled in his desk chair texting Peter. And Erica, who he assumes stole his number from Peter. Which was a nice change of pace considering he had planned on mostly spending the afternoon and evening fuming over the stupidity of Boyd and Isaac’s boss and just wishing he could find a way to get Boyd the chance to take over the company a little quicker.

Well. Technically he could. But he promised his Pops a long time ago that he wouldn’t let Lulu run amok and wreak havoc on unsuspecting civilians. No matter how stupid they are and how much they deserve it.

DAY 28

Peter pokes his head into the open doorway and peers inside curiously. Stiles had sent him a text asking him to stop by when he had time and Erica had nearly shoved him out of the bar with a gleeful cackle when he made the mistake of telling her. He spots a couple of construction workers near the back of the shop and he’s surprised by how much it seems has been done already considering all of Stiles’ complaining. There are beautiful shelves and cabinets throughout the shop, just waiting to be filled. A few simple pedestals just waiting for small sculptures or other artwork are scattered around. At first glance it seems entirely random and chaotic but as he steps into the shop and looks a little closer he can almost make out a pattern to the madness.

“Peter! Hey! Come on in!” Stiles pops out of what is most likely his office and waves Peter closer. “I started pulling stuff out of my storage units and saw something that I think you might like.”

Peter sits in the chair Stiles directs him to and watches as he flits around the small office, opening drawers on the filing cabinet and poking at boxes in the corner and cursing softly.

“So. Are those two out there some of the idiots your sign referred to?”

Stiles freezes for the slightest of moments and Peter swears he sees a shadow in the far corner twitch. Then Stiles laughs and makes a triumphant noise as he pulls something out from under his desk.

“No. Those two are the only non-idiots on the entire crew.” Stiles holds Peter’s gaze and he swallows a little harder than intended.

“Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah. So. It would be best if you kept that in mind, Peter.”

“Noted.”

Peter is not entirely sure what he was just threatened with. But he knows a threat when he hears one. He’s distracted from wondering just why his wolf isn’t snarling and defensive at the threat in Stiles’ voice when Stiles slides a small wooden box across the desk.

It’s not so much the box that distracts him, though it is a gorgeous dark wood with intricate designs carved into it. It’s what’s inside the box that catches his eye.

A crescent moon, a bit larger than a quarter, wrapped in some kind of wire is nestled inside the box.

“May I?”

Stiles nods, smile on his face growing wider when Peter carefully pulls the pendant from the box for a better look.

“So,” Stiles says, voice dropping into a professional tone. “From what I’ve been able to gather it’s a moonstone. Obviously cut and shaped into a crescent moon. The stone is wrapped in copper in what I’m guessing is a tree of life sort of design. It’s a little rough looking but that’s what you get with handmade stuff. The necklace part is just a simple leather cord with bronze clasps.” 

Peter carefully holds the stone in his hand and tilts it this way and that to watch the way the light makes it shimmer ever so slightly.

“What made you think I would like this?” He’s not denying that he does like it. It is beautiful and, especially for a born wolf like him, powerful.

“Partially just because, in general, I’m really good at finding things that people will like, even if I’ve just met them. It really helps with the whole selling antiques and art to people thing.” His eyes flicker towards Stiles. It wasn’t a lie but Peter feels like there’s more to it than that. “I can find them what they didn’t even know they couldn’t live without. Plus when I opened the box last night it made me think of your eyes. That flash of blue in it when the light hits it just right.” Again. Not a lie. “Plus there’s the whole thing where moonstones are supposed to represent new beginnings and whatnot and I figured what better way to get to know the guy at the end of the block, right? A gift of new beginnings?”

None of it was a lie. But all of it felt like it wasn’t really the truth either. Stiles isn’t a wolf, Peter knows that. He’s not a run-of-the-mill witch or druid and he’s certainly not fae, though he’s not that far off from one either. He’s something else. Something more.

He’s just… Something.

Peter can’t wait to find out what that is someday.

DAY 41

PETER: People I don’t know keep smiling at me today. What is going on?

STILES: Maybe you put on your friendly face?
PETER: Impossible. I only wear that one at work when I absolutely have to. This isn’t work.

PETER: [IMG]
STILES: is that… are you…

PETER: Stuck in the bowels of the hell that is our local craft store? Yes. Yes I am.

STILES: omg $30 says you find glitter in your underwear for the next week

PETER: Why would I take a bet we both know I am going to lose?

DAY 42

PETER: Somehow, someway I managed to get glitter. Inside my sock, inside my shoe, while I was wearing it.

STILES: Magic?

STILES: gremlins???

STILES: did you piss off a Craft God of some kind?

PETER: No.

PETER: But I may have upset the lady who rang me up yesterday. Apparently ‘everything except the turtle who matches your speed’ is not an appropriate answer when asked ‘did you find everything today?’

PETER: In my defense she spent fourteen minutes (yes I timed it) ringing up the gentleman in front of me. He had three items. He paid in cash.

PETER: FOURTEEN MINUTES STILES.

PETER: If the next nearest craft store wasn’t two hours away I would have just left.

DAY 73

Stiles winces at the way Dad lets the oven door slam shut and whines when Pops drops the stack of plates and silverware onto the table. He’s got his eyes open just enough to read the messages on his phone and when he reads Peter’s he sticks his tongue out even though no one is there to see it.

PETER: And what have we learned from this?

STILES: what have *we* learned? don't even joke about that.

STILES: i'm not here to learn

PETER: Clearly.

PETER: Did you even make it home in one piece last night? I know I promised you could start to celebrate your 21st at the bar. But somehow I forgot how much alcohol that involves for some people.

STILES: yes. in the way that i made it to a place i have lived in and have called home even if it is not currently my home.

PETER: I am going to regret asking what the hell you mean by that.

STILES: not as much as i regret waking up in the back of my dad’s patrol car. for the record i did not get arrested for anything. my dad is just a DICK who thought it would be FUNNY to come pick me up from the last bar scotty and i were at in his patrol car.

STILES: and then pull into the driveway and hit the siren just to see me fly awake and then nearly throw up.

PETER: Patrol car? So your father is in law enforcement?

STILES: nah he just stole a patrol car awhile back because his husband thinks it’s hot to make out in the backseat of it

STILES: yes my dad is in law enforcement Peter

PETER: Take some aspirin and go back to sleep.

STILES: maybe i will

STILES: or maybe i'll medicate with a little… hair of the dog.

PETER: Whatever you decide try not to get arrested.

STILES: no promises

Scott sends him a message just as Pops drags him off the couch and over to the kitchen table.

SCOTTY: are you dead? am i dead?

STILES: nope. kinda wishing i was though.

SCOTTY: whoever decided that you and i should celebrate turning 21 together needs to not make decisions anymore

STILES: agreed.

STILES: i call not it on telling Allison she doesn’t get to make decisions anymore.

SCOTTY: noooooooo. if i tell her that she’ll threaten to cut my dick off.

SCOTTY: again

SCOTTY: she’s more terrifying than any of our parents combined

“Stiles,” Dad says. “No phones at the table.”

He would roll his eyes but he’s pretty sure that if he did the splitting headache he has would actually split his head in two. Which would ruin Pops’ delicious looking scrambled egg mess he made with extra buttery toast just for Stiles. Despite the fact that Dad was a dick last night Stiles bites his tongue when he reaches for extra bacon to add to his own scrambled mess. Mostly because Pops is giving him that look that promises Stiles will be on dish duty every time he visits for the next three years if Stiles so much as opens his mouth.

He feels mostly alive after his post-breakfast nap and even more alive after he showers once Dad drops him off back at his apartment. Lulu gives him an unimpressed look when she slinks out of the bathroom after him and he huffs at her.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy seeing me make an idiot out of myself. Or that you didn’t enjoy watching the chaos of me running amok through the town I grew up in while mostly drunk off my ass. I mean, come on. I climbed up one of the trees in the park and then yelled down at Scott that if he weren’t so straight I’d totally blow him cause he’s got that adorable dopey look to him that’s hard to resist sometimes.”

Lulu yawns and curls up under his TV stand.

BOYD: Why do I have 17 missed calls, 3 voice mails, and a picture of what I am hoping with all my might is not your asscheek

STILES: because it was my birthday and i was being generous and giving you the gift of my presence

STILES: which you clearly didn’t want

BOYD: Why me and not Isaac?

STILES: Isaac doesn’t love me or my ass as much as you do

BOYD: Why are you the way that you are?

STILES: because reasons

DAY 167

Stiles isn’t entirely sure what the magic in his wards is trying to tell him when the bell over his shop door rings. It almost feels like a threat. But not somehow. Whatever it is, it’s not towards him and it’s not actively a threat. But it is? It’s almost more like… the possibility of a threat? A glimmer of a potential for a threat in a distant future? Probably?

Lulu licks at his fingers twice before nipping them and leaping up onto the filing cabinet in the corner.

He glares after her; that did not help him clarify anything.

“What good are you?” he hisses at her as the door chimes a second time. This time he feels the familiar spark crackle rumble of Peter stepping through his wards. “I’ll be right there,” he calls out.

“Don’t rush,” an unfamiliar voice calls out in a tone that heavily implies they’re just browsing and have no intention whatsoever of buying anything in his shop. 

Which just won’t do at all.

Stiles slaps on his most endearing smile and steps out of his office with the intent of selling whoever is out there with Peter the most expensive thing he can get them to believe they can’t live without.

“Okay, Peter. We’ve looked around,” a woman says. “Can we just continue on to the dinner portion of our date?” 

Peter is standing near the register and when Stiles steps out from his office Peter immediately meets his eyes and mouths ‘help me’ while gesturing towards his date. She’s peering into the possibly gremlin haunted curio cabinet — Stiles still hasn’t figured out that cabinet’s deal and, honestly, he’s not too concerned as long as Lulu doesn’t get eaten by it and it doesn’t suddenly start singing Japanese lullabies or something — and as she raises her hand to tap at the glass Stiles clears his throat.

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” he says. “The glass is rather fragile. I’d hate to have to make you pay for breaking it.”

The woman straightens and looks at Stiles and if Stiles had a picture dictionary he’s sure her face would be pasted into it next to ‘haughty’ or maybe ‘complete and utter horrible human being’ would be a better fit.

“You could try,” she replies and, okay. Coming from some people that would be cute or a playful little jab. Coming from her? In his shop? On his territory?

That is a fucking gauntlet thrown down and he is happy to be the one scooping it up.

“Oh I’d do more than try. But that’s not why you’re here.” He smiles at her and she blinks in confusion. “You’re here on a date and I am here to make sure you get something perfect so you can always remember this date.”

Her curious looks turns suspicious. “I don’t know. I have rather expensive taste.”

Stiles only smiles wider. “Don’t worry. I’m very good at my job. I’m sure that, Peter was it?” She nods. “I’m sure Peter here can afford it. Only the best for you, right?”

That makes her eyes sparkle and he ignores the look of murder in Peter’s eyes as he ushers the lady over towards the wall that houses dozens of jewelry filled cases. With each piece that Stiles subtly encourages her towards and Peter politely refuses to purchase for one reason or another her patience grows shorter and shorter until she finally breaks when Peter says he refuses to pay for a necklace that makes her look like a gold digging floozy.

The door to the shop slams shut before Stiles can even put the necklace back. To be fair it did make her look like a gold digging floozy. But he had made sure she had wanted it so much that Peter’s refusal was like a personal attack towards her.

He’s very good at the sales portion of his job.

“Peter can afford it?” Peter asks testily as Stiles locks the display cabinet up and jiggles the door to make sure it stays that way. Some of the pieces in this particular case really want to be against human skin and they have decided to make that his problem; damn cursed objects anyway.

“I mean. You can.”

“Yes. I can. That is not the point.”

“What is the point?”

Peter opens his mouth and then closes it. “You know what? I am not even sure.” He rubs his hands across his face with a sigh. “I have a feeling I may need to engage in your date ending service a few times in the coming months. Sister dearest has gotten it in her head that I need to find myself a relationship and settle down. Apparently being a thirty-year-old solo business owner with little to no outstanding debts is not enough of an accomplishment for her.”

“Is this the same sister that thinks you’ve been fucking Erica for like five years now?”

“The one and only.”

“Maybe she just wants to end your devious, depraved, bed jumping, cradle robbing ways.”

“Yes, because working twelve plus hours a day, four to five days or more a week leaves me with so much time for the drugs and debauchery she’s under the impression I am a part of.”

His wards shiver just before the bell above his door rings and a customer steps inside, eyes flickering around the shop curiously.

“Duty calls,” Stiles says. Peter nods and heads for the door as the customer starts wandering through the shop. “Oh, and Peter?”

“Yes?”

“Come back anytime you need a save. Remember: I’m very good at my job.”

Peter’s hand starts towards his throat, where the moon Stiles gave him would sit if he was wearing the necklace, and Stiles waves before turning towards his customer.

He’s good at all of his jobs, actually.

DAY 179

Stiles,

Thank you, once again, for the save last night. That man was absolutely atrocious and I cannot believe my sister thought I’d ever want to know, let alone date, someone who thought that wearing crocs was any part of an appropriate first date outfit.

Take this bottle of wine as a thank you gift. I know you haven’t tried it before. It’s not something I sell at the Cabana but my vendor delivered a case last week by mistake. Let me know how you like it.

Yours,

Peter

DAY 180

STILES: how could you not warn me about wine hangovers

STILES: it was delicious 

STILES: but at what cost???????

STILES: PETER?

STILES: WHAT COST PETER?

PETER: Drink a lot of water. Take a quick jog or a walk to get the blood flowing. Then a warm shower.

PETER: Try to avoid coffee, more alcohol, and greasy foods until the hangover fades.

PETER: Next time perhaps avoid drinking the entire bottle.

STILES: How do you know I drank it all? I’m still young. Maybe I’m just a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.

PETER: You spent the night snapchatting Erica, who shared most of it with me since we were working.

PETER: You also sent me a very beautiful picture of your bathroom floor.

PETER: Feel better soon Stiles.

DAY 182

Peter presses the crescent moon hanging against the hollow of his throat hard enough that he’s sure there’s indents from the copper wire for a few seconds before his healing kicks in as he reminds himself to just breathe. To take deep breaths. To not murder his sister.

She’s only trying to look out for him, he reminds himself. To uphold whatever promises she made their parents before their deaths.

He rereads his sister’s message and presses the stone against his skin again. He needs the extra control the stone gives him, the pure moonstone is like a soothing balm to his snarling wolf. He still has no idea if Stiles knows just how precious the necklace was in the end but the more his sister starts trying to force herself into his life the more grateful he is for the gift. He’s worn it almost every waking moment since that first disastrous date. Mostly just for the reminder that this is his life. That he has his own friends, his own people, that his sister cannot control. People like Erica and Stiles.

Talia may be Erica’s alpha but Peter has never had a doubt in his mind that Erica is his. That Erica would throw herself into the proverbial fire for Peter without hesitation. Meanwhile she’d likely refuse to even piss on said fire to put it out for Talia even if she commanded it. His sister is many, many things. Good at making friends and allies is not one of them.

“Hey, Boss.” Erica struts through the back door and drapes herself into the chair across the desk from him before leaning back and propping her heels up on the desk like she’s the one who owns the damn thing and not him.

“Erica.”

“What did Her Highness do this time?”

“Oh just reminding me of my duties and reiterating how much of a disappointment I am currently and explaining that she is just worried that I will lose out on my trust fund if I am not in a relationship soon. Not that she phrased any of it that way. But you get the gist of it as well as I do.”

Erica snorts and crosses her ankles. “More like she’s worried that she won’t find someone to date you that she can strong-arm into taking her side for everything before your trust gets dumped into the options you picked out for it if you don’t meet all the conditions set by your parents.”

“It’s as if she doesn’t know me at all,” Peter mutters.

Erica snorts again and pulls her phone out and this is yet another reason Peter loves her. She understands that sometimes he just needs her here with him. Not necessarily doing anything. Just existing in his tiny office together. Her scrolling endlessly on her phone while he goes over bills and expenses and reports.

“What do you think she’s gonna do when she realizes that even if you do meet the conditions and get access to the trust almost everything is going right back into a new trust for the kiddos?”

“You realize if Derek ever hears you call him a ‘kiddo’ he’ll probably have some kind of brain hernia and need to be rebooted.”

“Oh I know. Which is why I endeavor to meet him one day so I can blow his… mind in each and every way possible.”

It takes a few seconds to register but when it does he levels Erica with the most unimpressed, and slightly disgusted, look possible.

“I’ve created a monster,” he says instead of all the other things that spring to mind. “I remember the day I met you. You barely even had the nerve to speak to another person. Now all you do is wear low cut tops and flirt.”

“And I get paid very well to do it. And I am very good at it. And you get lots of money out of me doing it.” Erica winks at him. “Though we both know that you could get just as much as me with some of those bikers if you would tend bar every now and then.” Peter rolls his eyes. “Who do you think I learned the tight, low cut shirt thing from?”

“You’re a nuisance,” Peter grumbles. But he doesn’t deny it. He looks good in tight v-necks and he knows it. It’s only fair that the rest of the world knows it too.

DAY 216

PETER: Are you around? I know the closed sign is in the shop but I could use an emergency save if you’re free.

PETER: Pretty sure this man bathed in the cologne he’s wearing. He may have even ingested it.

PETER: I am starting to think my sister does not want to marry me off. She wants to send me to an early grave of some kind. This many dates? It reeks of some kind of desperation.

PETER: Seriously Stiles. This man reeks not of desperation but of cheap watered down dollar store cologne.

DAY 217

Peter:

Sorry about yesterday. Family emergency. They rarely need help with much so when Pops calls it’s legit an emergency.

Shop’s gonna be closed for a few days while I get some energy back. You know how it is dealing with family sometimes.

If you need a save in the meantime head over to Silver Linings. It’s a clothing shop on the other side of town. My sister Allison owns it and she owes me a few favors. If you need to go there just tell her I sent you and she’ll take care of you.

Also. I found this necklace the other day. I think Erica will like it. It’s a true north star that matches your moon.

-Stiles.

DAY 290

Stiles watches his shop door slam shut and he’s glad he went with the reinforced glass option on it. It gets slammed a lot more than he thought it would.

“Well. That didn’t go as… well, no,” Stiles laughs. “That kind of went exactly how I expected it to.”

Peter lets out an irritated huff but he’s smiling when Stiles turns around.

“Do you have a broom and dustpan?” Stiles can’t help but give Peter a confused look. “You just broke a perfume bottle on that lady to get me out of yet another ridiculous date. The least I can do is clean up the broken bottle.”

Stiles thinks about it for a second, trying to remember where he saw them last.

“Oh. Yeah. Should be in the corner of my office.” Peter heads that way and Stiles flips the sign on his door to closed. The last thing he needs is someone wandering in and managing to cut themselves on the glass or something.

Also the perfume isn’t something that should be smelled by regular old humans. Supernaturally inclined folks are fine. But humans not so much. He’s not entirely sure if Peter knew that his date was a witch and there’s no way to ask without revealing that he knows what he knows.

Oh Peter’s not stupid. Stiles is sure he’s smelled the lingering magic on Stiles and realized that Stiles isn’t entirely human. But nothing has popped up anywhere to indicate that Peter has been looking into him at all. Not even a background check or a search on his name.

It’s refreshing, in a way, to be around a werewolf that doesn’t seem to care at all what Stiles is, what his story is, who his family is.

“I don’t know where you got that fox statue in your office, Stiles. But it is slightly terrifying the way it seems to watch you no matter where you go.”

Stiles knows exactly what Peter is talking about.

He just had no idea Lulu was planning on showing herself to Peter. The surprise of it is his excuse for what he says next. Oh sure he’s been thinking about it in an abstract sort of way. But knowing that Lulu likes Peter enough to start showing up around him? It kind of makes it less abstract.

“You know you should just marry me.”

Peter freezes in the middle of sweeping the bottle up.

“Pardon?”

“I mean. When I graduated I had a seven year plan, ya know? Finish college by the time I was twenty. Own my own business by twenty-two. Be in a committed relationship by twenty-four, twenty-five max.”

Peter finishes sweeping up the mess. “And that has to do with marrying you how?”

“Just that I was thinking, with all these bad dates of yours and all. If we’re both single when I hit twenty-four we should just get together. You can help me out with my plan and I can help you not be pimped out by your sister.”

“Personally I’d like to find a solution for my sister that isn’t almost three years away. But I will certainly keep it in mind.”

“Well, I’m sorry Peter. But I just can’t get married before twenty-four. I promised my Dad I wouldn’t rush into it.”

Peter’s laugh fills his shop and Stiles can practically feel Lulu’s smug contentedness radiating from every shadow in the shop.

Oh. So that’s what she’s playing at.

There’s worse things in life than Lulu playing matchmaker.

DAY 293

Peter barely glances at his phone when it buzzes. He’s wrist deep in invoices, Erica is healing from some ass of a wolf who thought Peter’s bar was a good place to start some shit last night, and he’s seriously considering just keeping the closed sign up tonight. It’s tough enough most nights with him and Erica both. He’s not sure he feels like trying to handle it on his own.

His phone buzzes again and he shoves all the invoices into his top drawer with a groan.

ERICA: Why does everything taste like ass? What did you give me?
ERICA: Why does it smell like ass too?

Peter rolls his eyes but before he can reply his phone buzzes yet again.

STILES: hey fyi your sister just showed up in my shop. do i need to be picking out a casket or something?

STILES: i only ask cause she looks more pissed than Allison did the last time i questioned her taste in boyfriends and i was pretty sure Dad was gonna let her bury me in the backyard after that one so…

STILES: i have Pops here for backup if she gets too testy. but i figured with the way you’ve talked about her you’d like the heads up that she’s around in case she heads your way next.

Peter is out the door and halfway down the block before he even fully registers what he’s doing. It’s not that he doesn’t think Stiles can handle himself. He knows he can. He knows that anything his sister tries to say to Stiles will most likely just roll off his back. He knows that Stiles will hold his own and probably give his sister just as much as she gives him.

It takes until he’s about ready to open the door to Not Gold to realize that the reason his wolf is howling under skin and ready to unleash the teeth and claws isn’t because his sister is here threatening Stiles.

It’s simply because she’s here. It’s the first time, as far as he knows, in the almost ten years he’s lived here and owned the bar that she’s even deigned to show up. Any time they’ve met face to face it’s been at her house, her territory, or neutral ground at some coffee shop or diner.

He pauses with his hand on the door handle. He didn’t even realize he considered Stiles’ shop as part of his territory. He may not be an alpha but he’s still a wolf. He still has his territory, his safe places, the places he’d protect with his life: the bar, his apartment, Erica’s apartment. And now, apparently, Stiles’ shop.

It’s kind of a heady feeling, especially knowing that with Stiles being whatever he is there’s no way he’d be able to have this claim rolling in his chest if Stiles wasn’t receptive to it, if Stiles hadn’t already keyed Peter in to whatever protections Stiles has around his shop.

He takes a deep breath, opens the door, and notices three things at once.

One: his sister looks like she can’t decide if she wants to murder Stiles or start sitting at his feet like a trained dog and while he understands the warring feeling it’s just wrong coming from her.

Two: the fox statue from Stiles’ office is now on top of the curio cabinet in the corner and is somehow no less soul deep terrifying than it was the first time he saw it with the way its eyes almost seem to sparkle with mischief and follow your every movement.

Three: he can smell a hunter — gun oil, gunpowder, faint traces of wolfsbane and silver — but it’s layered under more familiar scents — the broken down vanilla and grass scent of old papers, the tang of whatever magic Stiles has, and, strangely enough, the smell of rain lingering in the woods after a heavy storm — and he can’t quite figure out where it’s coming from.

“Stiles Stilinski,” Talia says and Peter wants to growl at her. She has no right to stand in Stiles’ presence let alone let his name grace her lips.

He can be worried about this sudden territoriality later.

“Talia Hale,” Stiles drawls in reply. He’s leaning casually on his register counter but Peter knows better than that. He can feel the sheer power coiled under Stiles’ skin and he wonders if his sister somehow can’t feel it herself or just doesn’t care about it.

“I had the most interesting conversation yesterday with a dear family friend of mine and it got me curious. Apparently her date with my brother was ruined when they went to an antique shop. The specific reason wouldn’t normally even register but, you see, it was the third time I had heard that exact same reason for one of Peter’s dates to end. So I was curious. You’ve ruined, what? Four? Five dates?”

Stiles tilts his head and grins. “Twelve, if we’re counting the man who told me that he thought antiques were gay but I’m pretty sure Peter had already left the guy and ended the date himself before he even walked into my shop.”

“Twelve?” Talia takes a deep breath. “I cannot believe that—”

“That you’ve set Peter up on, what, twentyish dates in the last six months and that he’s asked for help getting out of at least a dozen of them? Yeah, me either.” Stiles props his chin in his hand. “If you’re that desperate for connections you should maybe start looking at making them in different ways.”

Peter wants to step in but the urge to see just how this all plays out is winning. Even when Talia looks at him like she can’t believe he’s letting Stiles talk to her this way. It’s understandable. There was a time he would have absolutely ripped someone to pieces for daring to speak to his sister, his alpha, that way.

But that was over a decade ago. Neither of them are the person they were back then.

“As I was saying. I was curious about this shop. About you. About where you came from.” Stiles tenses just the slightest bit but he doesn’t stop smiling at Talia. “I had somehow forgotten that before he remarried our dear sheriff was named Stilinski also.”

“Yep,” Stiles laughs. “Dad and Pops will hit ten years in a couple months. Did you know that the traditional ten year gift is tin or aluminum? To a lot of people it’s junk, cheap and easy to reproduce. But those who are in the know understand that it’s durable. Resilient. It bends and twists and crumples and straightens itself back out, wrinkled but still whole, long before it ever breaks. My sis and I learned a lot from our parents.” The warning in Stiles’ words slithers down Peter’s spine and he watches for Talia’s tells. They’re subtle. But they are there.

The way she rubs her thumb across the pads of her fingers.

The way she blinks twice before glancing towards Peter.

The way she smiles just this side of too brightly.

“Ten years is a long time. Your dad has been a sheriff for, what? Eleven?”

“Twelve. He became the Sheriff a few months before Mom died.”

“That is a long time. And he’s been unopposed the whole time, right? That’s impressive.”

“Yep. He taught me everything he knows about bullshitters, backstabbers, and political bffs. Here’s a tip, Talia. From one bullshitter to another.” Stiles meets Peter’s gaze and winks before looking back to Talia. “You want to be on my dad’s good side? You want to suck up to your local sheriff? Stop being such a controlling bitch and stop trying to butter me up now that you know who I am. Dad didn’t get to where he is by letting a few pretty words sway his decisions and playing nice with me isn’t going to get you into his good graces. He makes his own damn decisions about people and so do I. If you’re lucky his first impression of you will be better than mine has been. Have a nice day. Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out. Ma’am.”

Talia, for all her faults, knows when to back down from a losing battle. Especially since Peter is essentially taking a spectator seat in this whole thing. Talia is tough. She’s strong. She’s not stupid, despite the way she acts sometimes. But Peter was always the one with the words, with the battle of wits, with the venomous tongue and thick skin to back it up.

So Talia makes one final parting comment about seeing Stiles soon and him saying hello to his dad for her and then she’s gone and Peter has a moment to breathe. Stiles winks at him again and Peter laughs at the smug look on his face.

“Hey, Pops. You can come out now. I know you were listening the whole time. How did I do?”

“Noah would be proud. I’m just glad you didn’t stoop to violence.”

Stiles gasps. “You wound me, Pops. It’s like you don’t even know me.”

“Oh I do know you. Which is why I’m glad you went with the verbal evisceration of the alpha of the territory we live in and not, you know, actual evisceration.”

Peter’s blood runs cold. Not at the words but at the sight of the man who said them as he steps out of Stiles’ office.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew. As soon as Talia made the connection between Stiles and the sheriff he knew. Beacon Hills only has one sheriff after all. And even if Peter didn’t live there anymore he had heard all the gossip of how their dear sheriff got married to Christopher Argent, of the famed Argent hunter family, and took his name.

Logically, deep in his brain, the moment Talia mentioned the sheriff Peter knew that Stiles’ Dad was Sheriff Argent and his Pops was Chris Argent. But he had refused to accept that. Had refused to acknowledge that this man that his wolf has so thoroughly decided to accept as one of his own was related to the same hunter family that has tried to eradicate his family, with varying amounts of success, for centuries.

“Peter?”

He looks at Stiles.

“I have to go.”

Stiles smiles sadly.

“You know where to find me.”

Peter swallows down the whine in his throat as he backs out of the shop.

DAY 295

“Heya, Daddio.”

Dad takes one look at him and pulls Stiles into the kind of back cracking hug he hasn’t had since he was a kid.

“Aw hell, Kiddo.” Dad tightens his arms and then leans back to give Stiles a sympathetic look. “A Hale? Really?”

Stiles lets out a wet sounding laugh and rolls his eyes.

“You know me. Can’t do anything the easy way.”

Lulu butts her head against his calf a few times and then slinks away, fading into the shadow under Dad’s favorite chair.

“Never could,” Dad says softly. “Hey. We got through everything else. We’ll get through this. Whatever way it goes. Whatever form it takes. You know why?”

“Because we’re Argents,” Stiles mutters. “And Stilinskis.”

“Damn straight, son. We’re Argents. We’re Stilinskis. We’re hunters and protectors both. We protect those who can’t protect themselves and, just as importantly, we take care of those who are ours.”

“Whether they know it or not,” Pops adds as he wraps Stiles and Dad both in a hug.

“Oh? Are we hugging it out?” Allison pokes her head in from the kitchen. “I don’t even know what it is about but I want in!”

DAY 296

POPSICLE: Stiles I swear if you do not answer your door I am breaking in.

STILES: that’s, how you say, illegal

POPSICLE: What’re you going to do about it? Call the cops on me?

STILES: this isn’t BH Pops. the cops here aren’t Dad or Jordan.

POPSICLE: True. But you’re still in Beacon County. And I have it on good authority that the Beacon County Sheriff thinks my ass looks good in these jeans.

POPSICLE: So I would recommend you let me in before he shows up to arrest me and we wind up making out against your door and scarring you and your neighbors for life.

POPSICLE: Again.

ALLIBEAR: OMG Stiles just let Dad in.

ALLIBEAR: I just heard Dad 2.0 let out that gross surprised choking noise that means Dad sent him a picture of his ass or his biceps or something.

ALLIBEAR: I dunno what Dad is planning or saying but please if you value my sanity and the fact I am stuck living at the house until my apartment is habitable next week you will LET HIM IN.

DAY 299

Peter glares at the note that had been slipped under his apartment door sometime while he had been asleep. Not passed out. Asleep.

Boss,

Get your delectable ass to work or I swear I will stop flirting with the vendors and you’ll get charged full price for all this shit. I am not equipped to be able to handle the vendors and invoices and patrons and all that shit by myself.

I love you. But I will come drag you into your fancy shower, dunk you in freezing water, and dump all your expensive whiskey AND your cheap vodka down the drain if you are not here tomorrow.

Hugs and kisses and all that,

Your Favorite and ONLY employee

PS: We really need to get someone else in this place.

PPS: Can it be Kira? She’s adorable and can fix shit that breaks when she’s not being adorable.

It’s a good thing Peter isn’t insulted or upset by a little bit of insubordination or Erica would have been fired about a day after he originally hired her. He takes one last shot of whiskey before stuffing the bottle back into his cupboard.

DAY 300

He registers the rap on the door frame, Erica telling him to play nice, the door shutting with a loud click, and the somehow not entirely overbearing scent of hunter before he can even look up. Not that he needs to look up to know it’s Chris standing just inside his office. It’s only been a week since he smelled that gun-vanilla-forest scent in Stiles’ shop and, honestly, he’s been expecting some kind of visit.

It’s half the reason he’s been tucked away in his own apartment for most of the last week.

The other half is a jumbled mix of denial, want, and confusion with the tiniest sprinkle of betrayal that he knows is only barely justified and only if you squint, tilt your head, and peer at it through a kaleidoscope.

“Peter.”

“Argent.”

Chris sighs.

“Call me Chris. Please.”

“Chris,” Peter bites out. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I know it’s only been a week and that it’s been a lot to take in. But my son deserves better than you disappearing like this. He’s gone through a lot in his life and someday he might fill you in on the details of it all. But trust me when I tell you he deserves more than someone who will vanish on him the way you did. He wants you in his life. But he’s not going to beg for you. Not going to fall to his knees and pray you come back. He’ll be hurt if you don’t. But it won’t break him. He won’t let it. Won’t let you. He wants you in his life. It’s up to you if you want that too. He won’t make that decision for you.”

Peter processes that for a moment. “And you?” he can’t help but ask. “What do you think of your precious son wanting me, a werewolf, a Hale in his life?”

“It’s his life, his decision to make. If he wants you in his life, it doesn’t really matter what I think, does it?”

“It does if I have to worry about you stabbing me the moment my back is turned.”

“Peter. I don’t judge you by what your sister, what your family, has or hasn’t done. I’d ask that you do me the same courtesy.”

“Your sister— ”

“Got what she deserved in the end,” Chris says sharply. “Trust me.”

Peter blinks at the venom in Chris’ tone. They never did find out what happened to Kate Argent. Just that she was no longer a threat to anyone, supernatural or human.

“It’s just. Hard,” Peter admits eventually. “When you’ve been raised…”

“I understand. Believe me, I understand. But I’m not my father or my grandfather or my great-great-however far back you want to go. And neither are you. I’ve done my research, you know. On the Hale Pack. I did it before I ever moved to Beacon Hills and I’ve kept it updated over the years to a degree. I know why you left. Why you came to the other side of the county with Erica. Or at least I know enough to make educated guesses.”

“I’m a werewolf.”

“Peter. This isn’t Romeo and Juliet. Sure you’re a werewolf but, and I’m sure you’d be the first to say it most days, that’s not all you are. So get your head out of your ass and decide.”

“Decide what?”

“Are you just a werewolf? Some mindless beast? Or are you Peter Hale? Is Stiles just a hunter? Some mindless killing machine? Or is he Stiles Stilinski?” Chris takes a deep breath and gives Peter a smile. “In all the years I’ve known of you, about you, I’ve never taken you for a mindless beast or a coward, Peter. Don’t prove me wrong now.”

DAY 303

PETER: Are you still upset with me?

STILES: I dunno. Are you still being a prick?

PETER: Stiles, darling. I would have thought you realized by now I’m always a prick.

STILES: not to me, not always. not to Erica. not to Kira.

PETER: I think you’re smart enough to know what that means.

STILES: yeah. that you’re not actually always a prick

STILES: apology accepted, ya dick

STILES: but only if you bring me a bottle of that wine

STILES: and some peanut butter cookies. i've been craving peanut butter cookies.

PETER: I’ll stop by before the bar opens tomorrow.

DAY 365

Stiles' gaze flickers between his computer and his phone a few more times before he groans and picks up his phone. Lulu hops into his lap and then stretches so that she covers most of his chest and presses him into his chair.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles says when the call connects. “You remember how you always tell me that there are things that are your job, things that are my job, things that are Pop’s job?”

“What’s going on?”

“I think I found something that’s your job. Or at least up your alley.” Stiles looks at his computer again. “I’m gonna send you something. I know that I shouldn’t ask. But I can promise you that Boyd and Isaac know nothing about it other than their boss is a giant worthless asshole.”

“Do I even want to know how you got whatever it is you’re sending me?”

“I mean it’s all legit. There was just, you know, no real reason for me to be looking into it. I’m hoping that might be the part you can help me with once you see it. I don’t think that ‘my son’s familiar told him to look into it’ is something you can really use in a court of law or whatever.”

“Son,” Dad groans.

“I know. But. You know how it is.”

“I do.” Dad sighs and Stiles can picture him running his hand through his hair and shaking his head at Stiles. “You know I can’t promise anything.”

“I know.” Stiles hugs Lulu tight against his chest. “Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.”

DAY 438

Stiles’ twenty-second birthday is much less memorable than his twenty-first.

But. He at least remembers all of it.

He once again starts the night at Jimmy’s Beachside Cabana. Taking his first shot with Scott, Allison, and Erica while Peter rolls his eyes at them all. He meets up with Isaac and Boyd eventually. Danny, who he hasn’t seen since high school, buys him a couple drinks when they all stumble into The Jungle sometime around ten.

Dad picks him up — sans patrol car this time thankfully — and instead of going back home he asks to be taken back to the Cabana. Dad is awesome and does it with minimal amounts of teasing. Mostly because Stiles threatens to throw up in Dad’s car, which is actually Pop’s SUV, and they all know there’s no way Stiles is cleaning it up if that happens.

He ends the night sprawled in the back booth of the Cabana listening to Peter and Erica playfully bicker as they close the bar and clean up for the night. Once Erica leaves Peter sits across from Stiles and goes through the tills and the paperwork he needs to take care of while Stiles sips a bottle of water. Lulu slinks up from under the table and flops across Stiles’ lap as he watches Peter sort papers.

It’s a good way to end a birthday.

Or, really, any day.

DAY 500

Peter hasn’t really talked to Talia much lately. He hasn’t really talked to her much in years, honestly. Sometimes he misses the days when he’d curl up against her side and they’d sit under a tree out in the Preserve and just talk about anything and everything until the sun set and their parents would call them back to the house.

But only sometimes.

Because mostly when he looks at her, when he thinks of her, all he can really see and hear and remember is all the ways she’s tried to change him. To twist him and bend him and fit him into the box she’s always thought he belonged in.

He hates what she’s done to him over the years. Hates that he can barely even recognize the sister that used to read him stories before bed and sit up with him when he had a bad dream.

But that doesn’t mean he likes to see her hurt.

“Go away, Erica,” he says when there’s a knock on the office door. “I told you I just want to be left alone right now.”

“Not Erica,” Stiles says as he opens the door Peter could have sworn he locked. “And now that I’ve seen you I am definitely not leaving you alone. You look like shit, dude.”

It says something about the state of his mind that he hadn’t even registered it as someone other than Erica outside the door.

“Stiles,” he sighs. “Not today. I just. I can’t.”

Stiles looks at him for a moment and then settles down in the chair across from Peter.

“Your sister might not be my favorite person but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you sit here alone, Peter.” Stiles pulls out his phone and taps at it a few times. “If it’s any consolation. I talked to Dad. He said that Pops and Allison already took care of the problem. They backed up Derek and Laura,” he adds before Peter’s wolf can snarl at the idea of an Argent taking care of a Hale issue. “Last thing he told me was that Pops and Laura were taking care of the body.”

They fall into an easy silence until Peter takes a deep breath and rubs his hand across his face.

“Tell them thank you,” he says tiredly.

DAY 522

ERICA: Do you think Peter would find it more hilarious or offensive if I bought him a flea and tick collar for an anniversary gift?

STILES: anniversary for what? getting neutered?

ERICA: Getting the Cabana in his name but I am so calling it that now.

STILES: to be fair it did kinda ruin his ability to get laid for at least a little while with how much work he put into it.

ERICA: To be fair his sister did assume he was fucking me at that point and accused me of having his balls in my hand and trying to take advantage of him.

STILES: Wait what? Seriously???
STILES: Weren’t you like 17 or 18 or something?

ERICA: 16 when Peter got the idea to buy the Cabana. 17 when he convinced Jimmy to sell it to him. Turned 18 two weeks after he bought it. Renovated so he could have us classified as a restaurant until I turned 21 so that I could have a job. Then we revamped it back into a bar.

ERICA: And Talia implied and then flat out said that we’d been fucking the whole time. Claimed she could smell it on us.

ERICA: Which. After what happened to Derek? Was a lot of bullshit.

STILES: that. yeeeesh. total bullshit.

STILES: you know you can get a subscription service for the collars?

STILES: by the time the next one comes in 7 or 8 months he’ll have forgotten about it. at least the first couple times.

DAY 523

PETER: Did you give Erica the idea to refer to the anniversary of putting the bar in my name as Peter’s Neutering Day?

PETER: Because it was either you or Derek and since Derek is in another state on business right down I don’t think he has the time to indulge Erica in her frivolities.

PETER: Seriously. Neutering Day.

STILES: Peter. It’s 2AM.

STILES: yell at me for being friends with Erica a different day

STILES: preferably when i don’t have to open the shop at 6AM

STILES: HAPPY NEUTERING DAY PETER

STILES: I HOPE IT IS ALL YOU WANTED IT TO BE

PETER: Stiles. It is 7AM. The bar was open until 1. I did paperwork until nearly 3AM.

PETER: You are an asshole.

STILES: payback, sweetheart. tis a bitch.

DAY 590

Stiles, Peter thinks as he heads down the block to his shop, is Something Else. Every time Peter thinks he’s almost got Stiles figured out, at least a little bit, something happens that throws him for a loop. Every time he thinks he’s pinpointed what Stiles is or what he can do or what all he has going on everything seems to be thrown out the window.

He glances at the familiar shop front and smiles when he sees that damned fox statue sitting in front display. He freezes as he goes to push the door of Stiles’ shop open, eyes stuck on the shop name etched into the glass.

“Not Gold,” he murmurs.

Stiles waves at him when he steps inside and Peter moves over to look through the bookshelves near the door as Stiles finishes up arranging delivery of a couple of solid looking end tables that are stacked up next to the counter. Once the customer is sent on their way Peter wanders over.

“Not Gold,” he says. “It was staring me in the face the whole time.”

Stiles stares at him for a moment and then starts laughing.

“I mean. I figured when I told you to go see my sister over at Silver Linings it might finally click. If nothing else, once you met my Pops I was sure it would have registered.”

“It was staring me in the face and you just stood here and watched me try to understand it over and over again.”

“Yep.” 

“I mean. We’ve had the discussion about your shop’s name how many times?”

“More than a few.”

“You are evil,” Peter growls. “Evil incarnate.”

“Eh.” Stiles shrugs. “Only about half. And I keep that half in Lulu so. You know. There’s not much to worry about.”

“Lulu?”

Stiles points into the front display and Peter catches sight of the statue.

“That adorable black fox in the corner? That’s Lulu.”

“You keep the evil half of you in the fox statue that always seems to be staring into my soul.”

“Yep.”

The thing is. Peter isn’t even entirely sure if Stiles is telling the truth or lying. And, well, honestly? He doesn’t even care that much because Stiles is grinning at him and inviting him out for an early lunch at the diner they both love and how can Peter say no to that. Especially when Stiles glances at the moonstone sitting in the dip of Peter’s throat and his smile gets even wider and has that possessive tilt to it.

Peter is a pack creature, after all, and Stiles practically radiates pack.

DAY 678

“Thanks.” Stiles smiles as he slips next to Allison and wraps his arm around her waist. “But no thanks.”

Once the man finally leaves Allison spins and punches him in the shoulder.

“While I appreciate the thought, I can tell guys ‘no’ on my own.” She punches him again just to make her point. And because she can punch really hard and knows that he bruises like a fucking peach. “I don’t need you to play knight in shining armor for me. Never have.”

“You gotta let me feel useful sometimes, Allison,” Stile whines as he rubs his shoulder. “Otherwise I’m just a giant skin bag of sarcasm and bad jokes.”

Allison rolls her eyes and tugs Stiles towards the front of the store.

“You are so much more than that and we both know it,” Allison laughs. “Now let's go and see if they have that lot you bought packed up for you yet. The sooner you get it back to your shop the sooner you can start doing your weird magic and getting stuff to the people it’s supposed to get to.”

Stiles groans. “My magic has nothing to do with that.”

“I know.”

“I hate it when you do that.”

Allison sticks her tongue out at him. “I know.”

DAY 703

Stiles flings himself into the booth with a grin.

“Finally! Congratulations, you two!”

Boyd rolls his eyes and Isaac buries his face in his hands as nearby patrons look over.

“Why do you have to make it sound like we just got engaged or something,” Isaac whines. “How did you make it sound that way?”

“Magic,” Stiles replies distractedly as he glances around the bar. He waves when Erica spots him. She grins at him and nods before saying something over her shoulder to someone.

“Magic,” Boyd replies.

“Mhmm.”

Boyd narrows his eyes at Stiles but Stiles just grins wider and there’s a round of bottles being set on the table between them before Boyd can say anything else.

“Erica insists the first round is on me,” Peter announces when they look at him in surprise. “I swear that girl spends more of my money than I do.”

They all look to the bar and Erica wiggles her eyebrows at them with a grin.

“She only does it because you let her,” Stiles points out.

Peter turns and stares at Stiles for a few seconds and then looks to the other two in the booth.

“What are we celebrating?” he asks, choosing to ignore Stiles’ comment.

“Boyd and Isaac here finally got the universe’s toilet to flush a giant piece of shit down the drain.”

Peter blinks a couple times and then shakes his head. “Can either of you translate that for me?”

“We finally took over the construction company,” Isaac says softly.

“As in one of you is the foreman now?”

“As in we own it now,” Boyd replies.

Peter gives them both an impressed look. Stiles doesn’t even pretend he doesn’t know why his heart jumps to his throat at Peter’s blatant approval of two of Stiles’ friends.

“Now that is definitely a reason to celebrate.” Peter pats Boyd on the shoulder and nods at Isaac. “You two don’t pay tonight.” Peter turns to smile at Stiles. “You, however, still owe me from last week.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open as Boyd and Isaac burst into laughter. He’s still sputtering and arguing when Peter winks at them and heads back to the bar.

“He’s such a dick,” Stiles grumbles, knowing that Peter can hear him perfectly fine across the bar. Peter chuckles before he turns to help the man at the bar in front of him.

“No wonder you like him so much,” Isaac murmurs.

Stiles glares at him but Isaac is riding on too much happiness right now to even care and, well, Stiles can’t help but let his glare melt into a smile.

DAY 732

PETER: Really you two? Really?

PETER: Do I even want to know how many of these I will be getting?

PETER: Do I want to know how much you spent on this?

ERICA: I mean… you’re the one who gave me a credit card

STILES: Would you have preferred the subscription that sends you yummy rawhides and fun squeaky toys each month? Cause I can get you that for your birthday if you want.

PETER: I should make you both clean the toilets at the Cabana you feral little goblins.

STILES: I don’t even work there. Good luck with that.

ERICA: I will pee in your shoes if you make me clean the toilets.

ERICA: I never claimed to be housebroken

ERICA: you wanna find out just how feral I can be?

DAY 827

It’s been a quiet night, which is a relief after the last couple nights, and Peter is in the middle of restocking some supplies under the bar when he hears the door open. Erica is grabbing a few things from the back so when he hears someone sit down at the bar he takes a deep breath and pastes on his best customer service face.

“What can I get for you tonight?”

The man at the bar smiles at him and something about it makes Peter pause. There’s something familiar in that smile. Something that is both comforting and mildly terrifying at the same time.

“A good night’s sleep,” the man chuckles. “But with my son and my husband that’s not likely anytime soon.” Peter makes a noncommittal noise. “My daughter’s the only sensible one of the lot.”

“Are you counting yourself in that lot?”

“Most definitely.” The man grins and winks at Peter.

It’s right there. Right on the tip of his tongue who this man is.

“Well. I can’t promise a good night’s sleep. I could probably get you drunk enough that it wouldn’t matter when you passed out if it was good or not.” Peter looks the man over. “But I have a feeling that’s not why you’re here.”

“Nope. It’s not.” The man pulls out his wallet and slides a card across the bar to Peter.

Peter picks it up and his stomach drops.

“Noah Argent.”

“Yep.”

“The same Noah Argent who used to be known as Noah Stilinski.”

“Yep.”

“Sheriff.”

“Yep.”

“You going to shoot me now or later?”

Noah laughs. “I’d rather not shoot you at all, honestly. I leave that sort of nonsense to my husband.”

“Your husband. The hunter.”

“Yep.”

Peter sighs and pours himself a shot. It does nothing, it’s not laced with anything. But the burn as it goes down feels appropriate for this situation. Not that he really even knows what the situation is right now.

“So. To what do I owe the honor of your visit tonight?”

Noah shrugs. “Mostly just wanted to see the person my son has decided is his new BFFL.”

“Oh no. That’s Erica. I’m just the one that they torture for funsies.”

“Also,” Noah adds, like Peter hadn’t even spoken. “I was curious to see if the Hale kid that I spent so much time talking to as a deputy learned anything since then.”

“I learned not to do stupid shit where you could catch me.”

Noah lets out a startled laugh and shakes his head. “You sound exactly like my son. No wonder you two get along so well.”

“It’s a gift. Erica,” he calls out, “come meet Stiles’ dad.” There’s an excited shout from the back and Peter grins at the look Noah gives him. “Have fun.”

DAY 981

“Lulu?”

Stiles tilts his head and closes his eyes, pushing his magic out through his shop and, when he doesn’t sense Lulu, as far outside it as he can. He’s about halfway down the block towards Peter’s bar with his magic poking into whatever crevices it can when warning trickles down his spine.

He goes still and presses just a little more with his magic.

Lulu pops out of the shadow under his desk and leaps into his lap, chittering angrily and on the verge of letting out a screech. Stiles wraps his arms around her and takes a deep breath, pulling her into himself.

The lights in the shop go out and his eyes flash in the sudden darkness.

“You were down in the bar weren’t you? This obsession of yours with the wolves is getting out of hand,” Stiles murmurs.

His magic snaps in his chest playfully.

“Well then.” Stiles rolls his shoulders and pushes away from his desk, eyes bright in the shadows. “Shall we go see what’s lurking around and waiting for us outside?”

DAY 1000

Peter watches the statue on Stiles’ counter warily. He knows that it was sitting on the bookshelf in the corner when he walked in and Stiles has been in his office the whole time Peter’s been in the shop. So unless Allison — who has also been in Stiles’ office the whole time — moved it somehow Peter is not sure how exactly it got from the shelf to the counter.

The statue blinks twice and then winks at him.

Because of course it does. Why is he even surprised?

“Stiles?” Peter calls out.

“Yeah?”

“This fox statue isn’t a statue is it?”

“Fox what? Lulu? Nah she’s not a statue. Not today anyway.”

“All this time I’ve thought she was a statue? And she’s just… not?”

“Expect the unexpected, Peter,” Stiles calls back.

The bell over the door rings a moment before Erica throws her arm around his waist and kisses his cheek.

“Hey, Boss.”

“Hello, dear.”

Erica rubs their cheeks together and leans against his back for a few seconds before she tilts her head and props her chin on his shoulder.

“Is that thing watching us?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, finally coming out of his office. “Lulu’s a creeper like that. She likes to watch.”

Erica laughs, warm and vibrant, and Peter shakes his head.

“How many more surprises do you have tucked away for me to find?”

The way Stiles looks at him, like he’s weighing Peter’s words and deciding just how much they mean to him in that moment, makes his heart almost skip in anticipation. There’s more to Stiles, he’s known that since day one.

Just how much more is still a mystery. One that, after almost three years of knowing Stiles, Peter is fairly certain he’ll never fully figure out.

DAY 1095

Stiles is slumped over the bar at Jimmy’s Beachside Cabana with a headache about twice the size of Pop’s SUV when all hell breaks loose.

It starts with a twinging twining trickle of warning wrapping around his spine. Then that trickle yanks at him so hard he nearly topples off the stool and Lulu, who had been draped across the shadows of the barstool next to him, lets out a bloodcurdling scream as she leaps to his side. Allison and Erica rush out from the back of the bar while Peter tries to collect himself from where he had been leaning against the other side of the bar and talking to Stiles.

The wards at his shop shatter and his ears ring with the intrusion.

“Stiles?” Allison takes a step and freezes when he shakes his head.

“Back booth,” he bites out. “Necklaces.”

Allison grabs Erica’s wrist and gestures for Peter, grabbing his wrist when he steps around the bar and dragging both wolves with her to the back booth. He can hear her explaining to them the extra protection weaved into the necklaces all three of them have — Peter and Erica’s moonstones and the copper and silver sunflower that Allison wears — and why he needs them to stay together.

Evil intention licks at him and Stiles shudders at the oily feeling seeping into his skin, searching for a way in.

Lulu lets out another scream, a warning and a threat to whatever is encroaching on their territory, and Stiles reaches for her.

Inky black shadows sweep from every corner of the bar and he feels his eyes flash as she leaps into his chest and shoves every ounce of his power back into his body. It’s overwhelming, this much power packed in his skin, lacing his bones with electricity and leaking darkness into his veins. It always is.

He hears Erica gasp, hears Peter’s heart skip a beat.

The sheer magnitude of what he is and what he can do makes his bones ache; growing pains he never really grows out of.

The door to the bar opens and Stiles’ lips curl into a grin as someone steps inside. It’s been some time since he’s gotten to dip into his magic and play.

Magic slams against him, dark and slimy and dangerous in intent, and he laughs as it sinks into him, feeding the hungry beast that is his own magic, his own spark.

“Of course,” an almost familiar voice snarls at him. “Of course it’s you.”

The woman who struts into the center of the bar and looks at Stiles like he’s something stuck to the bottom of her shoe still looks like her face would be pasted into a picture dictionary next to the entry for ‘complete and utter horrible human being’ but now he’s thinking it would probably be under ‘absolute idiot’ as well.

Stiles tilts his head as his magic probes at his shop and he takes a quick mental stock of the damages as Lulu’s growls resonate in his ribs.

“I told you before that I’d hate to have to make you pay for breaking the glass in my cabinet,” Stiles says softly. “That was a lie.”

She gives him a haughty look. “Oh really?”

“Yeah. I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy making you pay. Quite a lot.” Stiles takes a deep breath and the shadows around them pulse and throb. “Remember: I’m very good at my job.”

“Is that so? And what job is that?” She glances around the bar and scowls when she spots Peter, Erica, and Allison. “Being a pain in my ass?”

“I have a lot of jobs. But right now? My job is protecting my territory.” 

Stiles grins and he can taste the fear in the air when she looks back to him and senses the magic around her.

DAY 1100

STILES: So

PETER: So?

STILES: are we good?

PETER: Is there a reason we wouldn’t be?

STILES: I have been told a time or two that I can be a bit… intense?

PETER: Sweetheart if your abysmal eating and sleeping habits haven’t scared me away watching you beat the shit out of someone who deserved it sure as hell won’t.

PETER: Besides. She had terrible hair and you kicking her ass after she tried to destroy your shop and hurt you had the added bonus of embarrassing my dear sister.

PETER: So, really. I owe you one.

STILES: okay

STILES: thank you Peter

PETER: Nothing to thank me for, darling.

DAY 1145

It’s been almost a month and a half since Peter had watched Stiles pull his familiar — that’s not what Lulu is but until Peter has a better word for her he’s going with familiar — into his chest and unleash a whole lot of magic onto that dreadful woman. He’s pretty sure that he has finally convinced Stiles that he truly doesn’t care about it all. Or, more accurately, that it doesn’t bother him. He cares about Stiles and his magic. More than he maybe should.

But knowing that Stiles has that much magic? That he can not only contain but wield that much sheer power? Well it’s about as far from a problem for Peter as it can be. Which is a little odd. Because the kind of power that Stiles has is magic, one hundred percent pure magic. But it has the same kind of underlying steel to it that Talia’s alpha spark does. That same core of command and obedience.

But it sings to Peter in a way Talia’s power never has.

The power Stiles has is a weapon to be sure. But he doesn’t wear it that way. He doesn’t wield like a weapon. Doesn’t use it to command absolute obedience or unwavering loyalty.

It’s quieter. Dignified in way despite all its potency and chaos.

Stiles’ power is far more contained and dangerous than anything Peter has ever come across before and he can only hope that he’s standing at Stiles’ side when Stiles lets it loose. Though he has a feeling that if he ever did anything to put a target on his back for Stiles to aim at he’d deserve whatever Stiles managed to do to him.

There’s a cool breeze against his shins and then he has a lap full of Lulu. She’s started slinking out of the shadows of the bar and taking up residence in his lap while he’s working on paperwork and invoices.

He doesn’t mind. He likes the cool comfort of Stiles’ presence with him even when Stiles isn’t nearby.

A couple hours later he’s almost finished with all the books for the month when the door to the bar swings open. He would comment that he knows he locked it but he’s come to realize that locked doors just never really stay locked when Stiles is around and wants in.

“Good afternoon, Stiles,” Peter calls out softly, not wanting to disturb the dozing fox in his lap. “How is everything at the shop?”

“Fine,” Stiles replies distractedly. “Hey. Have you seen— oh.”

Peter glances over to see Stiles frowning at him.

“Something the matter?”

Stiles scoffs. “You duplicitous little sneak!”

“Excuse me?” Stiles points at Lulu and Peter sets his hand on her defensively. “Hush, Stiles. She’s sleeping.”

“I can see that. Why is she sleeping here? And not in the shadows under my desk where she always sleeps?”

“I’m her favorite, obviously,” Peter says as he turns his attention back to his books.

Stiles watches them for a few minutes before he suddenly shakes himself out of his thoughts.

“You’re her favorite?”

“Mhmm.”

“You’re the favorite of the manifestation of my spark that got twisted by the chaos magic in me and you know what? No. That. That actually tracks. Carry on.”

Peter freezes in the middle of running his hand through Lulu’s fur and turns to look at Stiles.

“I’m excuse me, what now?”

“You heard me.” Stiles scratches his head. “I gotta get back to the shop. Talk to you later, Peter.”

Peter stares down at Lulu. It’s official: Stiles is never going to stop surprising him.

DAY 1146

STILES: Hey Daddio

DADDIO: Hey Kiddo.

STILES: remember how we agreed i wasnt gonna tell anyone ever about what lulu really is?

DADDIO: What did you do?

STILES: i told peter

DADDIO: Kiddo. Answer your phone.

DADDIO: Stiles. Stop being a coward and answer your phone.

DADDIO: You know what? This is not a Dad conversation. This is a Pops conversation.

POPSICLE: Stiles. What did you do?

POPSICLE: Why is your dad calling you my son? He only does that when you did something truly dumb

STILES: heeeeey Pops.

STILES: so…

POPSICLE: Stiles.

STILES: i kinda accidentally told peter about what lulu really is

STILES: and then walked away

STILES: and hid in my shop doing inventory the rest of the day

STILES: :)?

POPSICLE: Stiles. Seriously?

POPSICLE: What the hell possessed you to do that?
STILES: nothing possessed me. but i am totally reserving the right to use that excuse one day

POPSICLE: STILES

STILES: Lulu was in his lap!! All adorable and comfy and calm and lulling me into a false sense of security by floating me all these good vibes and shit

STILES: I was blindsided and distracted!

POPSICLE: You literally wield more magic than should be humanly, or inhumanly, possible on a damn near daily basis and you were distracted by Lulu?

STILES: ye

STILES: pretty sure she did it on purpose the little sneak

POPSICLE: She is literally the manifestation of YOUR magic, Stiles.

STILES: Look, Pops. I love Lulu. I do. But I stopped trying to figure out how and why it is that she does what she does and just accepted that she’s gonna do what she’s gonna do.

STILES: believe me! Sometimes I wish the spark in me didn't get corrupted by the nogitsune in the damn alpha that bit me and then decided to manifest as a fucking black shadow fox thing that is as much of an asshole as I am okay!

POPSICLE: Stiles.  It’s your spark.  It was bound to be a bit of an asshole.

STILES: doesn’t mean she has to enjoy it so much

POPSICLE: You know what?  This isn’t a Pops conversation.  This is an Allison conversation.  Talk to your sister.

STILES: what?  NO!  Don’t make me do that!!!!!!

STILES: !!!!!

POPSICLE: Too late.  Noah already told her.  Expect a call soon.

POPSICLE: My recommendation?  Don’t ignore her call.

STILES: this family sucks so much sometimes

POPSICLE: Love you too, son.

DAY 1167

Peter leans against the counter, fingers dragging through Lulu’s soft fur, as Stiles finishes closing down his register and printing off his paperwork.  Stiles’ birthday is tomorrow and he’s planning on coming over to the Cabana to start the night with everyone so he can be mostly drunk by the time he turns twenty-four.

Or at least that’s what he’s told everyone.  Peter is pretty sure Stiles just wants an excuse to stay curled up in the back booth all night until Peter closes and kicks everyone out and then spends the last couple hours doing his own books with Stiles next to him.

“Stiles?”

Stiles hums to show he’s listening as he compares his printouts.

“Sweetheart?”  That gets a smile but Stiles keeps skimming his printouts.

Lulu nips at Peter’s fingers in what he interprets as a show of support.

“Alpha,” Peter says softly and that gets Stiles’ attention, eyes flashing for a moment when their gazes meet.

“How—”

“You said Lulu was the manifestation of your spark.  Between that and the way you protect your territory I made an educated guess that it was more than just your magic.”

“Oh.”

Peter smiles.  “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.  But then I decided that I was tired of being the one surprised in this relationship so it was past due that I give you a little surprise.”

Stiles huffs.  “Well.  Congratulations.  You surprised me.”

Lulu nips at his fingers again and Peter gives her a look.  She blinks up and yawns.

“I have another one.  Possibly.” Stiles looks at him curiously.  “Go out with me?”

“I’d love to.  Hell.  You play your cards right and I just might marry you.”

“Promises, promises,” Peter murmurs.  “I can’t wait.”