Work Text:
“Come on, Scott!” Stiles said, phone cradled between ear and shoulder as he juggled bags and keys, fighting with a door that refused to cooperate. Stupid fancy apartment with its stupid fancy double locks. “You have to admit it’s at least sketchy as fuck that no one, from the baristas at his favorite coffee place to literally everyone in the pack, no one at all has seen or heard from Peter in almost three months! I even had Derek check their shared accounts. He hasn’t touched them, not even to pay for gas. Something is up!”
There was a scratchy huff of breath, a clunking sound that probably meant Scott had set the phone down on speaker, and Stiles felt a headache building up behind his left eye. He would give all the horses in his kingdom and all the mountain dew in his mini fridge back home to be taken seriously for once.
“I would have thought that you, of all people, would at least be worried he’s up to something,” he goaded. Stiles never claimed to be the bigger person. Nope. He was the tired person, the person who just needed dinner and for his friends to be cooperative. “I thought you were all about keeping an eye on him.”
The phone was silent for a moment, long enough that Stiles thought he had been hung up on.
“Hey Stiles,” Kira’s perky voice popped out over the line, and Stiles heaved an aggrieved sigh.
“Hey Kira, does this mean Scott’s tapping out?”
“He can still hear you,” she answered, and even though he couldn’t see her face he knew it was sympathetic. Kira was cool, even if she was totally an enabler. Ugh. He couldn’t even be mad. “Uh, oh right! So we were thinking of splitting the town into patrol zones?” she said, and he made an agreeable sound before putting his own cell on speaker. Fuck it, its not like he was the one with guests around who might eavesdrop, and he had groceries to put away.
“Like, maybe pairing up the pack and alternating patrol times, so that the whole town gets a check in at least every other week, and we don’t have to umm, try to work around everyone’s schedules so much?”
“That sounds great, Kira. Really.”
“I’m sorry he’s still missing,” she said, her voice soft and sad. Stiles wondered if Scott had left the room, or if he was making offended faces at the thought of his girlfriend feeling compassion for the source of all evil in the world. Stiles frowned. He was getting pretty hangry, and hangry combined with sleep deprived could only equal a catastrophically bad mood.
Kira was still talking though, and he guiltily picked the phone back up to focus on her.
“I know how worried you’ve been. But! He’s resourceful right? If he is in trouble, he’d find a way to reach out.”
“Maybe. He’s hard to kill, for sure. I just…he should have left a message, or at least reached out by now to stop me from ruining his image and pissing off all his contacts.”
“You’ll figure something out. You never let anything stop you for long.”
“Thanks Kira,” he smiled, but it was weak. It’s true that he’d never given up in the past, but he was getting tired of being the only one still pushing through.
He knew his friends had reasons to hate Peter, hell, there were many days that Stiles would rather slap the guy than sit down to coffee with him. But in all honesty they had many reasons to hate each other too. Peter was far from the only one in the pack who had tried to hurt people. Point of order he hadn’t actually come even close to killing any of them, which ironically was more than Stiles could say for Scott, or Derek, or himself. Attempted murder might as well be their group’s fucked up initiation ritual for how often it happened.
In the end, all it left him with was frustration as he struggled alone, begging reluctant favors from anyone he could think of as he continued to try and convince literally anyone to take him seriously.
Derek was checking the accounts weekly, Lydia texted every few days to report any death vibes. His father and Scott had both promised to keep an eye out, but he knew from the tilt of their heads to the tone of voice that screamed “You’re being too you today and I am dismissing all this as over excitable nonsense” that they weren’t going to go out of their way about checking for leads.
As far as anyone but Stiles was concerned, Peter had simply gone away, and good riddance. Life moved on, and while they wouldn’t say so to Stiles’ face, they all felt a little lighter—a little safer—for the loss.
“It’s fine,” he muttered to himself, phone call ended with all the appropriate promises to keep in touch on the matter. He finished putting away the groceries in Peter’s stupid big fridge (with an ice maker and extra large freezer and everything!! Fucking rich asshole), ignoring how empty the apartment felt without the lurking presence of the older wolf.
It would be fine though. Stiles knew himself. For better or worse, he would never give up.
*
* *
> There’s an omega in the preserve
> Whoever they are they’re sticking to the trees, away from people
> Scent is familiar
Stiles pulled his eyes away from the message, sent 11:45pm last night, focusing back on the road. He hadn’t replied yet, hadn’t slept at all either.
For a text coming from Derek, the message was fairly direct; a threat in the woods that he felt the need to report. But it was what he didn’t say that worried Stiles. A familiar wolf scent, an omega Derek made no attempt to run off. A threat he was waiting out, and leaving up to Stiles to make the first move on.
It had to be Peter. It had to be. Derek wouldn’t cop out of checking unless he was being all tragic and having feelings. If he checked and it was Peter, well. Most omegas were too far gone to help, starved and crazy, or just plain out to hurt people. When it came down to it, Stiles wasn’t the only one in the pack willing to do what it took to stop them from hurting anyone else in their final moments.
The bottom line was, omega wolves were dangerous. Whatever else Stiles had to say about the guy, Derek wouldn’t let him go alone into danger. Therefore, something was up with this one. Something that made Derek shy to engage.
“Fuck.” He took the next turn a little too fast, not caring how white knuckled his driving was as long as he got there fast enough. “Fuck! This better be you Zombiewolf, or we are both so fucked.”
He got it, he really did. Derek had already lost everyone once, so of course he wouldn’t want to be the one responsible for killing his uncle again. But fuck, Stiles couldn’t think of any reason for Peter to have cut off all contact and be living in the preserve that didn’t involve him going omega in some way or another.
“I better not get mauled to death just because you idiots need family therapy,” he muttered to imaginary Hales, fingers tapping nervously on the wheel as he kept a pessimistic eye out for bloodthirsty, half-naked wolfmen on the road.
His phone screen was still dark by the time he reached the fire watch trail, no new texts or messages of any kind had been sent in answer to his demands for more information. Grimly, he grabbed his bat and taser, a tupperware of mountain ash and a scheduled email to be sent out in case of him not being able to delete it in the next two hours were the final backups in his arsenal. Last was his emergency backpack, always kept in the Jeep these days in case of supernatural encounters.
“Let’s do this. Come out, come out wherever you are. Here wolfy, wolfy,” he called out, making a face at himself and his stupid very reasonable nerves as he started down the path.
He followed the trail through the trees, the dawn light just barely enough to keep him from tripping and breaking his neck as all his senses were strained for any sight or sound of werewolves.
Not for the first time he wished he had the nose for tracking that the others did. Without werewolf senses he was left following the tug of unease in his stomach, and the nagging, human intuition that some parts of the woods were more dangerous than others.
Fifteen minutes of walking towards the most out of the way corner of the preserve finally paid off when he saw footprints in the dirt by the side of the path.
Bare, human feet, leading away from the trail.
He sent a brief text to let Derek know he was following something and to come save him if he didn’t text again soon, before boldly following the prints off into the bushes.
The farther in he went, the thinner the plant life became, until finally, he reached the edge of an open glade that set the hair on the back of his neck prickling.
“Oh my god.”
Stiles stood absolutely still, shock rooting him in place as he watched a mud covered figure emerge from a small, cave-like alcove across the clearing.
Peter.
“Oh my god,” he said again, the wheezing noise of his disbelief causing Peter's head to snap in his direction. Stepping back only made Peter bare his teeth, yep, those were fangs, in a clear threat to stay back lest he become Alpha chow. Because yeah , those were red eyes , very angry, glowy red Alpha eyes. He stopped moving, and held his breath.
The pair stared at each other, a weird stalemate of stubbornness that was only made worse by the fact that Stiles could hardly take in what he was seeing. Peter had been missing for months. Peter was an Alpha now. Peter was shirtless and covered in forest mess, and completely out of his mind except in that he couldn’t be completely gone for real or he would be ripping the vulnerable human who had invaded his den space into bloody pieces. Which he obviously wasn’t doing.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Stiles asked, the question soft on his breath as he slowly lowered himself into a criss cross sitting position. The movement caused an uptick in volume as Peter continued to growl and posture at him, but behind his eyes there was a familiar blankness. Stiles had seen it again and again in feral omegas (and a couple times in wolfed out friends as they tried to eat his face). He clearly had no idea who Stiles was, much less who ‘Peter Hale’ was and how absolutely disgusted he would be to see himself like this.
“Fuck. Ok,” Stiles chewed his lip, fingers tapping a slow beat out on his thigh as he watched the werewolf watch him back.
Peter still hadn’t moved.
“Do you…are you hungry?” He asked, tentatively reaching around to remove his backpack. This got him a show of fang, but no more than a warning growl as he shrugged the bag down his shoulders to the ground in front of him. Peter seemed wary, but interested. He hadn’t moved from his half crouch yet, still ready to charge forward at the first sign of aggression from the human, but he was also now blatantly sniffing the air, pulling gulps in around his wolf fangs as he tried to figure out what Stiles had on him.
He didn’t have much. The granola bar he tossed over went straight in Peter's mouth, almost including the wrapper he had half removed in deference to Peter’s claw problem. The same was true for the banana (this time peel and all was devoured as Stiles winced) and the bag of Cheetos he had forgotten was in there.
Slowly, not wanting to startle Peter into getting physical with him in any way, he pulled out his phone to text Derek as the newly made Alpha occupied himself with licking the cheese dust off the bag.
< found P
< not safe 4u
< will try to bring him back to his place
< if no txt in an hour get ur ass here
> be careful
Stiles didn’t sigh. He just breathed out a very long, slow breath.
“How about it, Peter? You wanna see if we can get all that mud off you? I have a change of clothes and a chocolate bar with your name on it.”
*
* *
It turned out that he could not get the mud off, even after Peter had been tempted over with both the chocolate bar and a bottle of water.
Stiles was relieved to find that Peter was more interested in sniffing him (narcissistic much? Stiles was sure he could smell himself on the borrowed shirt) and didn’t seem to have any interest at all in ripping out Stiles’ throat for trying to get him to put on shoes and a shirt.
He didn’t like the clothes, and every offered garment was tossed with distaste and mild growling off into the cave. Except for the shoes. It turned out that fancy Italian leather was no match for frustrated Alpha claws. Stiles just hoped that when Peter remembered himself he remembered that the ruined loafers were his own dang fault.
"What the heck am I going to do about you?" He asked, hypothetically since Peter didn't even bother to growl at him anymore.
Peter had taken it as his Alpha due to lay claim to whatever Stiles had on him. His backpack had been emptied, and if he hadn't been pretty sure this meant Peter just assumed he was pack (thank fuck he had the foresight to wear Peter's scent!), he would have been pretty annoyed by now. Peter had broken a zipper and somehow managed to turn the front pockets inside out in his hunt for more snacks. Not that Stiles blamed him. He could only assume by the various bits of fluff and blood that Peter had been living exclusively off rabbits and birds. If it hadn't been for werewolf healing he would likely have scurvy by now.
"This is disgusting. Come on, I know there's a river near here somewhere. If you won't put a shirt on then you at least need to get that crap off you. I'm not even a wolf and I can smell you from across the forest."
His emergency supplies (now scattered around on the ground in Peter's hunt for more snacks) had a toothbrush, small toothpaste, a bar of soap, and some motel shampoo he swiped last time his dad brought him along on a conference trip for the department.
Grabbing the soap and shampoo, he scanned the clearing for the most used path out. Peter couldn't have lived this long without water, werewolf or no.
It was with plenty of trial and error that they managed to find the river. Although, Peter already knew where it was so he didn't get any credit for standing around watching Stiles stumble and curse his way around half the forest looking for it.
The river, when he finally did manage to find it, was just deep enough for swimming, and not too cold either. It was perfect.
“Into the water with you,” he said mockingly, giving Peter a light shove forward. “Don’t forget to wash behind your ears.”
Peter wrinkled his nose at the chill of the water, but made no move to exit the creek. He made no move to clean himself either, only staring at Stiles with his head slightly tilted in that way that reminded Stiles of a cat watching birds through a window.
Stiles groaned in exasperation. “Dude. I'm not your entertainment for the day. Or your dinner. Please for the love of jelly beans can you just wash yourself so we can both move on with our lives? A little soap and water gets us one step closer to your stupid fancy apartment and civilized living again.”
He held out the soap in his firmest, 'not fucking around here' manner.
“Please wash.”
Peter looked at the soap, his eyes flicking between the small white bar and Stiles’ serious face. Slowly, he reached out and took it.
Stiles breathed a sigh of relief.
Peter looked at the soap, back over at him, and then casually chucked the bar off into the trees.
“No! Bad Alpha!” Stiles groaned, but stomped dutifully off to find the soap.
He wanted to pull out his hair, but he counted to ten before handing back the now slightly dirt covered bar and making firm eye contact. “No throwing. You need to wash off dude.”
Peter huffed, almost woofed actually, and scowled at the soap.
“Wash.”
The eye roll he received actually made him feel hopeful that maybe Peter was coming back, until the soap was snatched from his hand and sailing far off into the trees on the other side of the river.
Peter bared his teeth in a wolf laugh.
Stiles counted to ten, then tackled him into the water with a war cry of frustration.
What followed was beneath his dignity to remark on, but it got Peter reasonably clean, even if he had to sacrifice his own comfort by climbing on the guy and wrestling him under the moving water.
Stiles sighed, tugging his wet shirt down over his stomach and flapping it absently to dry it. He wished he had thought to bring a spare set of clothes for himself, but he hadn’t even remembered to put an emergency set (for werewolf related clothing shenanigans) in his trunk after the last time he had to swap out bloody clothes for less incriminating gear. He was lucky to have the bag of Peter's clothes on hand after three months of nothing had almost convinced him he would never find the guy. Changing would have to wait until he was home, unless he wanted to crawl around in Peter's cave to grab the unused clothes he had discarded.
“Ok dude. This has been fun, for real,” he rolled his eyes and gave Peter a sarcastic little wave as the wolf frowned, tilting his head as if trying to puzzle out the sounds. “Ugh. Right. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Zombiewolf. Try not to get deer guts on yourself between now and then. I refuse to be held accountable once you realize how many cashmere sweaters and designer tees you’ve trashed.”
He squelched his way back to the clearing, taking a moment to find the path he had come down earlier. It was mostly hidden by some bushes, but he didn't have anything to mark a tree to find it again. He mentally added ribbon to mark the trail to his list of crap to bring. Who knew how long it would take to get Peter back to regular levels of asshole wolf. He could be coming out here for a while.
A growl, angry and deep, sent a shiver through him. The primal, animal part of his brain suddenly all too aware that he was alone, unarmed and barely two yards away from a predator. A cold sweat prickled across his skin as he took a slow step back, and froze in place as the growl turned into a snarl.
“Hey now,” he tried, keeping his voice low and soothing as he stared at the shocking white of elongated fangs. Peter growled again, hands clenching and unclenching as he watched Stiles fixedly.
The stupid part of Stiles' brain could only think how good he looked, half dressed and still wet from the creek, before those enviable abs rippled and Peter launched forward.
The world tumbled around him as he hit the ground, the air knocked out of him, sharp nails biting into his leg. His palms stung, scrambling to grab anything as he was tugged backwards, shirt scraping up his sides in sharp lines of pain.
“P-Peter stop,” he wheezed, kicking weakly against the firm grip on his leg. But the wolf ignored him, dragging him back toward the cave until he was tossed unceremoniously onto a pile of brush and unworn clothes.
He coughed, body stinging and head spinning as Peter huffed smugly to himself at his own cleverness in incapacitating and kidnapping the helpless human. The stupid wolf was blocking the entrance, and most of the light entering the space.
“No,” he pressed himself back against the wall, hissing as his bloody palms protested. “Get back, asshole.”
But Peter wasn’t there, not really, and uncomprehending eyes flashed red as he growled at Stiles, seemingly perturbed by his resistance. He stomped forward, intent on doing whatever his wolfy brain was intent on.
Talking his way out of this wasn’t going to work. Whatever upset him had clearly ruined whatever progress he thought he had made with Peter. Anything human had left the building, and only the wolf remained.
Thinking quickly, Stiles frantically searched for anything to use as a weapon, or defense against a feral werewolf. But there was nothing but the remaining lumps of clothes he had offered early that day and a pile of leaves pushed together to form some sort of nest. Not even bones remained of any meals Peter might have had before Stiles showed up to provide food delivery, and he could feel himself panicking as the snarling werewolf stalked forward.
Stiles screamed.
He screamed as pathetically and loudly as possible. Like a dog who’s paw had been stepped on, he put his whole ass into sounding as hurt and sad as he could.
Peter jumped back in shock, eyes flashing red as he snarled back.
Holding his breath, Stiles pressed himself down against the makeshift nest, closing his eyes and trying to look as nonthreatening as possible.
“Nothing dangerous here, just a sad little human you played too rough with,” he thought hysterically as he bit his tongue to hold back any smart remarks that might re-trigger the ragewolf. “If dogs can understand taking shit too far then you can too, asshole! Be a good wolfy and snap the fuck out of it!”
He couldn't suppress his flinch when claws came at his throat, and he closed his eyes in anticipation of the pain to come.
Which was why he gave a startled shout when a firm hand pushed him sideways and onto his ass.
He gaped like an idiot as Peter crawled into the nest beside him, full wolfed out face pouting and scowling hard enough to put Derek to shame.
He flinched again as a grumbly face was suddenly shoved against his neck, and he gave a yell as Peter flopped down, rolling them both over until he had Stiles pinned between him and the back of the cave.
"What the fuck, get off me," he protested, attempting to wiggle free but only managing to do a loose impression of a dying worm as he was effectively trapped by the larger, stronger body forcefully hugging him. He was also kind of dizzy from all the tossing and manhandling, so he may not have been trying too hard to get up.
A hand curled up, cupping the back of his neck.
“Dude, I’m not a kitten. You can’t just scruff me a-and expect…” he trailed off, biting his lip as the hand carded firm but gentle fingers through the short hair on his nape. “Well fuck,” he muttered, unable to suppress a shiver as nails scratched tantalizingly over his skin. It felt good, really good actually. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead into firm pecs and physically feeling his cheeks heat up like a stove-top as Peter continued to massage up and down the length of his neck.
“Ok, fuck. Maybe I am a cat. This is so unfair dude. I did not consent to cuddle and be petted like-like a pet!”
His face was definitely firetruck red, judging by how cool Peter's manly chest felt against his burning skin. Stupid, half naked asshole.
“I'm really glad you finally bathed, dude. This would suck so bad if you were still in rank caveman mode.”
He had to be disassociating or something. That was the only explanation for why he didn’t stop himself from petting at Peter’s admittedly round and furry peck. Morbidly, he watched his hand softly brush tan skin and curly hair, only the faintest sense of restraint moving his hand away from the bare nipple that rose and fell with each breath. It was nice. Much less internal screaming than he expected for his first time being cuddled against his will and fondling a man’s breast, and Peter wasn’t even present enough to be smug about it so really, win-win all around.
“You're such an asshole, you know that? I had fantasies you know, expectations. You better snap out of this Peter, because you owe me a redo. In a real bed, with sheets that have thread counts or whatever.” He sniffed, forcing his eyes to stay wide and drip free. He wasn't going to cry over this. It must just be the sting in his hands making his eyes water, that's all. “You better be ok, or I will kick your ass, Alpha or not.”
Peter only grunted, and huffed one of those big dog sighs that tells the world how hard and unfair dog life is. Stiles groped the peck in front of him again spitefully. If he was going to live this life he would take every chance to enjoy himself.
"You better not snore," he grumbled, and finally gave himself permission to just enjoy the moment.
By the time Peter was soundly asleep and Stiles had managed to use his undeniable ninja skills to extract himself from the forced hug, he almost didn't want to leave. But it was getting dark, and he had a whole list of things to get done in order to fix this whole mess.
He hated to leave Peter like this, but he seemed safe enough, and he would be back bright and early to get started on whatever he could to help Peter come back to himself.
He still felt guilty walking back to his Jeep.
The ride home passed in what was no doubt a less than safe haze, but somehow he managed to get home in one piece, text Derek to confirm he lived, and he even brushed his teeth before falling face first into his unmade bed.
The one thing he didn't remember to do was close the curtains, which he discovered to his immense displeasure as the sun rose the next morning, hitting him full in the face.
He groaned, rubbing his nose into his pillow as he felt himself fully come awake. He stretched his toes, wiggling around under the blankets until he could stretch all of himself without leaving the warm cave of his bed.
“Fuck this shit,” he muttered, groping around for his phone to check the time.
A hand placed the phone in his open palm.
He screamed.
“Hello Stiles,” Peter said, smirking as Stiles smacked his skull back against the headboard, unleashing a string of foul language as he flailed his way free of his batman bedspread only to freeze in shock when he realized who was sitting at his desk chair.
Red eyes flashed.
“Did you miss me?”
The following tackle and forced cuddling broke his desk chair, but Peter could afford to buy him a new one. He totally owed Stiles for this.