Chapter Text
Sorority Sister Overdosed: The Tragedy of Drug Culture in Higher Education Institutions, the headline of the local newspaper read.
Stiles picked the paper up as he shoveled down a spoonful of cereal. The paper was two days old, but he couldn’t put the article out of his mind. It made him wish he was in a journalism class so he could compare it to the college’s article about the death, i.e. an extended version of the email sent out to all of the students. The college’s article talked about Trisha’s achievements and how she was an asset to the school. It also reminded students that there would be a memorial service for her at a nearby chapel on Saturday.
The local newspaper just jumped straight into the details and then went on a tangent about the evils of drugs. There was also a blurb about depression, one that Stiles found insulting.
Scott trudged out of his bedroom, rubbing his eyes and waving his arm around so he wouldn’t bump into anything. When his hand landed on a box of cereal, he took a moment to look around the room. Of course, sweet, optimistic Scott would notice the newspaper in Stiles’ hands. “Dude! Stop reading that already. It’s freaky.”
Stiles threw down the paper. “The only thing freaky about this article is that someone looked at this and decided it was an unbiased masterpiece that got the story down perfectly.”
“Is Stiles ranting about the news article again?” Kira grumbled as she lumbered into the kitchen.
Stiles took a moment to note she was braless and in booty shorts. He took that as a matter of pride in regards to his and Kira’s friendship. When they first started living together, she would not show her face to him until she was fully dressed and made up. Now she wandered around in just her underwear and bathrobe without batting an eye.
She pulled out a chair and sat next to Stiles.
Scott joined them with bowls, spoons, cereal, and a carton of milk stuffed under his armpit. He filled the bowls with cereal and milk and passed one to Kira.
Kira pulled Scott towards her by the back of his head and kissed him firmly.
Stiles groaned and slouched. “C’mon guys, you know the deal: not at breakfast unless Chris and Peter are here.”
Scott threw his hands up. “I still don’t get that rule.”
Kira elbow-jabbed Scott. “Because Stiles feels extra lonely when we do it at breakfast.”
“Why breakfast though?” Scott demanded.
Stiles pouted. “Because it’s the most important meal of the day and is best served with affection.” Affection, which included lots of cuddling in bed, flirtatious banter, ogling of bare chests (and maybe an ass or two if Stiles was lucky), some manhandling in the kitchen, and lots of kisses peppered in between bites of food. Breakfast was Stiles’ favorite meal of the day, especially when he got to share it with his two soul mates. However, without them present the meal was bittersweet.
Stiles ran his finger over the silver mark on his wrist that indicated who his two soul mates were. He took a deep breath and folded the paper. He looked at the calendar posted on the wall and ran through his courses’ syllabi in his head. It was Thursday, and he had a morning class on Friday, but he had no papers due in it, and no test was scheduled. His Thursday afternoon class was also supposed to be all review for the test on Tuesday, which Stiles could easily ace.
“I think I’m going to visit Beacon Hills today.” He smiled. “Maybe surprise the soul mates, you know?”
Scott nodded his head at the newspaper. “Just don’t take that with you. You’ll kill the romance before it even gets started.”
Stiles grinned wickedly and rested his chin on his palm. “Speaking of romance,” he wiggled his eyebrows at Scott and Kira, “what are you two going to be up to all weekend long while I’m gone?”
Kira kicked Stiles in the shin.
Stiles hissed and bent over, but kept smiling. “And this is how I know we're besties. You never had the backbone to kick me before.”
“You mind closing tonight?” Chris asked his employee Dave. The man had been working for Chris for three years, and Chris had often left the man in charge of the shop during the few times he needed to take off for a week because of some rare find Peter had stumbled upon or because of suspicious supernatural activity occurring nearby. He might not hunt as much as he used to before Peter, but that didn’t mean ignored he it when dubious events occurred. “Need to head home early.”
“Peter called?” Dave asked.
Chris shook his head. “Stiles.”
Dave nodded. He’d only recently learned about Stiles. He had seemed a little thrown by the revelation, but had shrugged it off by saying, “Not really my place to argue with biology and metaphysics.”
“Doesn’t the rugrat usually sneak in late on Fridays?” Dave inquired.
Chris nodded, locking up the glass counter, where he had just restocked it with a new handgun display. “Change of plans.”
“Well then, go. Just return the favor at some point.” Dave waved Chris out.
Chris muttered his thanks, and headed out the door. He hopped in his car and drove home, expecting to be greeted by Peter, but his soul mate’s car was missing from the driveway upon his arrival. Chris pulled out his phone, checking the time. Stiles’ wouldn’t be arriving for about another hour or so. No, that wasn’t quite right.
Chris closed his eyes and tried to recall the exact time Stiles would arrive. It would be closer to four, maybe four-thirty if he hit traffic near Redding.
Chris rolled up his sleeves as he entered his house. The place was neat, but could still use some tidying up before Stiles’ arrived. They always managed to generate a huge mess whenever Stiles stayed over for the weekend, and it would be nice if he could lessen some of the potential clean up.
He put away any loose books or items that were left strewn around the rooms. He then vacuumed and swept before moving onto the kitchen where he cleaned the leftover dishes from breakfast. He then pulled out the chicken Peter had put in the refrigerator last night and prepared it. Once finished he set about stowing the dishes from the dishwasher.
Two arms twined around Chris’ waist from behind as he put away a glass in the cupboard.
Peter hummed contentedly as he pressed his nose into Chris’ neck, gently nuzzling him. “What are you doing home so early, and without telling me? If I had known, I would have delayed my plans for today and stayed home to play.” He nibbled on Chris’ earlobe.
Chris felt a spike of arousal and leaned into Peter. “I decided to leave early since Stiles is in coming in today.”
Peter snorted in amusement, his grin brushing against Chris’ cheek. “It’s Thursday, dear. Even as I struggle to contain myself with the knowledge that I’ll soon have him in my grasp, I can at least manage to keep track of the days.”
Chris frowned, turning slightly in Peter’s grasp. “Stiles is coming over today. Don’t you remember?”
Peter frowned, studying Chris’ face. He feigned a smirk, but his uncertainty shined through. “I would remember if Stiles’ told us such a thing. Unless he only told you.”
It went without saying that such a thing was highly unlikely, and even then Chris would have told Peter about Stiles’ plans.
Chris’ brow furrowed. He knew down to his core that Stiles’ was coming to Beacon Hills. He couldn’t remember when or where he had heard it though. He wasn’t even sure if Stiles had told him or if it had been Peter. If it had been the latter though, Peter shouldn’t be so surprised. “Maybe I’ve been stressing too much again and I am getting my dates wrong.”
“He comes every other weekend, and we visit him on the weekends in between unless there is a full moon. It is not that hard to confuse.” Displeasure wrinkled Peter’s face as he once again took up scrutinizing Chris. A true smirk appeared on his features. “You are getting old though.” He patted Chris’ head. “There, there. Should we start looking into some memory medication? Personally, I would prefer if you went the holistic route.”
Chris scowled and batted Peter’s hand away. “Just for that, I am adding extra garlic seasoning to the chicken.”
Peter’s nose scrunched at just the thought. “I’m a werewolf, not a vampire.”
“Yet you hate the smell just the same.”
Either bored with the conversation or unwilling to admit he didn’t have a snappy comeback for once in his life, Peter cupped Chris’ face and smattered kisses all over Chris’ mouth. Chris chased Peter’s mouth, trying to lure the man into a real kiss, but Peter eluded him. After several attempts, Chris was able to capture Peter’s lips and force them into a deeper kiss. They parted with a smack.
Chris muttered something about finishing his chores, and turned away. Peter flipped Chris around and continued their feverish kiss. The countertop pressed into Chris’ back, and Chris gripped it for purchase. He groaned as Peter burrowed closer to him, pressing their crotches together.
Chris was about to lose himself in the kiss when something tugged on his brain. He put his hands on Peter’s shoulders and directed Peter away.
Peter frowned and leaned in to continue, but Chris leaned away.
Chris glanced at the clock. “Stiles should be here soon.”
Peter huffed and rolled his eyes. “Did we not just go over—” Peter cut himself off, head snapping in the direction of the front of the house. “I’d recognize the spluttering sound of that engine anywhere.” Peter whirled on Chris. “He’s just a mile down the road. When did you two get in contact, and why was I not informed?”
Chris opened his mouth but no sound came out.
Peter crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes flashed red in what most would find intimidating but after years of being together Chris recognized that the motive behind the act wasn’t just intimidation; it was fear.
“I honestly don’t remember,” Chris said, wanting to give Peter an answer even if it wasn’t much of one.
“Then we really should look into getting you some medication.” Peter huffed and spun away. He sashayed out of the kitchen in a way that only Peter could do, somehow a combination of irritation, haughtiness, and seduction. Chris truly had never met anyone else who had master hip swaying to such a degree that complex emotions were conveyed as easily as if Peter had said them aloud, and Chris could hear Peter’s words clearly: “Fuck you, Christopher. I am a master of lies and deceit. You will be punished for this transgression and you better pray it is in the form of BDSM sex otherwise you will find yourself begging for my ass by the end of weekend, because there is no other way I am letting you near this piece of perfection otherwise.”
Chris gulped, but didn’t let his voice waver as he hollered after Peter: “Just remember, Stiles is here. He’ll want to spend time with both of us.”
“I’m sure I can keep Stiles thoroughly entertained with or without you,” Peter said in a sickeningly sweet voice. “I might even tie you up and have you watch just how entertained I can keep him.”
Chris pressed his lips firmly together to keep himself from making a sound at the mental image Peter had put in Chris’ head.
The front door flew open with a resounding bang. “Guess who’s—ack! Peter! Put me down! You’re crushing me!”
Chris strolled out of the kitchen into the front room where Peter had snaked his arms around Stiles’ waist and lifted the boy off the ground. Stiles held himself upright by holding onto Peter’s shoulders. Peter craned his head back and feigned innocence. “Why Stiles? You’re home early. Forgive me, I thought you were an intruder.”
“You hug your intruders to death?”
“Only the barely legal ones.”
Stiles squirmed in Peter’s hold and spotted Chris. He reached out with one had and made “gimme” fingers at Chris. “Chris, help. Peter is being creepy again.”
Chris chuckled and went to take Stiles from Chris, but Peter yanked Stiles away from Chris. “No, after you two conspired against me, I have decided neither of you get to have each other this weekend.”
“Conspired?” Stiles pouted. “We didn’t—“ Stiles brow pinched as he recalled a memory. “Okay, we did conspire to get you to let us change the laundry softener, but you have to admit your shirts feel so much better than they did before. Yes, you have to deal with the artificial scent of lavender, but—”
“That’s not what I am talking about. Although, we will have words about the softener later. I am talking about not being informed that you were visiting a day early.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah. It was a surprise.”
“Why did Chris get to know, but I didn’t?”
Stiles huffed and patted Peter on the shoulder, a sign that he really wanted down. “Because I didn’t tell Chris.”
Peter frowned. He cocked his head as he lowered Stiles to the ground, his hands never leaving Stiles’ waist. “Say it again and use the words: ‘I did not tell Chris I was coming over a day early this weekend.’”
Stiles looked between his two soul mates, obviously baffled by the request. Stiles wasn’t stupid; he knew Peter wanted the sentence phrased a specific way because he intended to listen to Stiles’ heartbeat for a lie.
Chris nodded encouragingly. His chest was tight with worry as he replayed the day’s events in his head. He had been so sure about Stiles’ arrival; if Stiles hadn’t told him about it, then who had?
Stiles shrugged and looked Peter straight in the eye. “I did not tell Chris I was coming over a day early this weekend.”
Peter’s fingers curled tightly around Stiles’ waist. His head snapped to Chris. Red colored Peter’s eyes.
Chris knew without being told what Peter wanted to hear. “I have no idea how I knew he was coming over today.”
Peter growled. He buried his nose in Stiles’ neck, and not in an affection manner. Stiles squawked in surprise and indignation. A few seconds later, Peter released Stiles and grabbed hold of Chris. His fingers felt like steel on Chris’ hips as Peter smelled Chris’ neck.
Peter growled again and released Chris.
He crossed his arms over his chest and glared daggers at the ground.
“Uh…” Stiles sidled closer to Chris. “Is there something I’m missing here? So Chris got it in his head I was coming over. Maybe he got the dates wrong or maybe I let something slip previously about not having a lot to do this week in my classes and he made an assumption?”
The red in Peter’s eyes dimmed, returning them to their blue hue. “Possible, but my instincts say otherwise.”
Stiles rolled his eyes and glomped onto Chris. He rubbed his check against Chris’ shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut as he nuzzled Chris. “C’mon, Chris, tell him that his wolfie instincts are out of whack.”
Chris wrapped his arm around Stiles and rubbed the base of the boy’s spine. “I wish I could, but if Peter’s instincts are acting up, I’d feel safer if we checked every supernatural possibility.”
Stiles groaned. “Yeah, because everything is caused by the supernatural, like my missing toothbrush from last week. It wasn’t Peter who threw it away; the tooth fairy just stole it.”
“That tooth fairy is a bitch,” Peter muttered, still mentally burning a hole through the floorboards.
“Oh my god!” Stiles shoved himself out of Chris’ arms and stormed into the kitchen. “Fine, I’ll get the spell books out, and get my Harry Potter on. I swear though, if this cuts into Petopher sexy time, I am going to riot.”
Peter looked up from the floor. “He loves his magic time; he won’t riot.”
Stiles groaned from the kitchen.
Chicken with a side of archaic Latin was the perfect romantic dinner, Stiles thought sarcastically.
He flipped through another ancient tome as he took a bite of his chicken. He tried to comfort himself by pointing out at least it wasn’t breakfast that was ruined when his stomach twisted in anticipation of even that too being ruined. A part of him wished he hadn’t come home early. The whole point of visiting a day early was to get extra time with his soul mates and…
Stiles internally sighed and dropped his fork onto his plate. He was being childish and clingy again. He was getting extra time with his soul mates, and for that he should be happy, he just wanted it to be more romantic. If he was going to spend time sifting through spell books he wanted it to be because Peter had found a potion he thought would interest Stiles. Peter would then show him how to make it in between intimate touches and flirting. Sometimes even Chris would join in.
This—researching demonic possession—wasn’t fun.
Stiles slammed the book shut. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t think Beelzebub possessed Chris just to tell him that I was coming home early.”
Chris reached under the table and clamped a hand on Stiles’ knee and massaged the muscles there with his thumb. “I agree with Stiles. Possession is bit extreme. We need to focus on creatures who specialize in the mind and/or precognition. Although, I am more inclined to believe that I may have been hit by a wayward spell.” Chris glanced at Stiles.
Stiles sat up a little straighter. “Are you blaming me for this? Because if you are: done!” Stiles slammed his hands on the table and pushed his chair out. “Problem solved. I take full responsibility for this travesty. Now let’s put on a movie and cuddle on the couch. Please?”
Peter sauntered around the kitchen table and shoved Stiles’ chair back in. He ran a hand throw Stiles’ short spikes. “Stay.”
Stiles glowered. “Who is the one who is part canine here?”
Peter bent down and nipped Stiles ear. “Behave.”
Stiles huffed and leaned into Chris. “Hypocrite.”
“And once again, I agree with Stiles,” Chris said.
“I will bite you too, Chris, and when I bite you, it will be much harder.”
Stiles slammed his face on the table. He wrapped his arms around his head and whined. “This is so unfair. Why do you torture me so?”
“Hush.” Peter stole the book out from under Stiles, and slid the one he had been reading in its place. “Here. I am sure this one will entertain you more.”
Stiles lifted his head long enough to glare at Peter.
The room was quiet. Chris removed his hand from Stiles’ knee to place it on Stiles’ back. His hand trailed up Stiles’ spine and clamped onto the base of Stiles neck, working the muscles there. “Maybe we should look into this more later?” Chris suggested.
Peter scoffed.
“Peter,” Chris used his warning tone. “While I find my sudden knowledge of Stiles’ comings and goings disconcerting, and I also want to follow your instincts, no harm has been caused and we barely have any leads. Also, Stiles came home early for a reason.”
“Stiles loves research.”
“Stiles is in the room,” Stiles grumbled into the table.
Peter paused in his pacing. Stiles could sense the shared look Chris and Peter were having.
Suddenly Stiles’ chair was yanked back. Before Stiles could even yelp his surprise at that, two arms swooped around him and scooped him up and over Peter’s shoulder.
Stiles’ latched onto Peter’s hip for purchase as Peter carried Stiles out of the kitchen. “I love the view, but seriously! Why am I always hauled around like a sack of potatoes? Why not Chris?”
Peter paused.
Chris cursed.
“That is an excellent question, Stiles.” Peter placed Stiles back on his feet, just inside the living room, and scurried off into the kitchen.
“Peter,” Chris warned.
“Chris,” Peter purred.
Chris made a noise of protest and surprise. The next second, Peter was strolling into the living room with a red faced Chris over his shoulders.
Stiles doubled over with laughter.
Chris’ flush deepened. He closed his eyes in frustration and ran a hand through his hair. “I thought I no longer had to deal with this after Stiles.”
Peter dropped Chris on the couch, and faster than Stiles’ eye could catch, Peter appeared in front do Stiles. He scooped Stiles’ up in a princess carry and hauled Stiles over to the couch.
Chris was readjusting himself when Peter plopped himself down in Chris’ lap, not bothering to let go of Stiles. Chris protested, but Peter snuggled into Chris as Stiles snickered at their antics.
Stiles threw his arms around Peter’s neck, kissing him on the forehead. “Now this is what I’m talking about!”
The smell of pancakes tickled Stiles’ nose, luring him into mild awareness. He was warm and smothered by Peter. Peter’s cheek was plastered to Stiles’ back, teasing Stiles’ skin with a hint of morning stubble. Peter growled and nuzzled his face into Stiles’ back. His arm on Stiles’ waist hugged Stiles tighter. “You didn’t turn off the buzzer on your phone,” Peter grumbled.
Stiles yanked Chris’ pillow off from his unoccupied side of the bed and smacked it on Peter’s head. “There. Cover your ears.”
Peter bit Stiles’ shoulder in reprimand, but sunk against Stiles.
Stiles breathed a happy sigh, snuggling into the mattress. Any moment now Chris would come up with a plate of pancakes and it would be nothing but cuddling, kisses, and delicious food.
Well, there might be something else, but Stiles was not going to engage in any “strenuous” activity until after he had his breakfast.
Peter tensed and growled again. He lifted his head, causing Chris’ pillow to fall. The next moment, Stiles felt himself being manhandled and shoved off the bed. He yelped as his ass hit the floor.
Stiles winced and rubbed his bottom. “Ow. I am so on top after this.”
“Answer your phone.” Peter jabbed his finger to the pile of clothes left over from last night. He yanked the blankets around him and cocooned himself.
Stiles grumbled and crawled to the pile. He cursed whoever would call him at this ungodly hour and destroy his perfect breakfast. He fished out his jeans and turned them over so his cell phone fell into his lap. Scott’s name lit up the screen then vanished as the call went to voicemail.
Suspicion needled at Stiles. Scott wasn’t a known morning person, and was usually pretty good about giving Stiles twenty-four hours alone with his soul mates before calling. Stiles powered up his phone to see how many times Scott had called when the phone buzzed again.
Stiles answered. “Scott?”
“Dude! Are you psychic or something?”
“Actually, I am something called a spark. You can think of it as being a warlock, wizard, or druid type of thing for now, but if you ever want to get into the details of it, I’d be happy to tell you.”
“What’s a druid?”
Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose and bit back a smartass comment.
“He’s your best friend and he doesn’t know what a druid is?” Peter asked.
Stiles held up his hand for silence. “Why are you calling, Scott?”
“Trisha.”
“I’m going to need more, buddy.”
“The girl from the news article you kept reading. The girl who supposedly died—she’s alive!”
Peter shoved himself onto his arms and knees, staring intently at Stiles’ phone.
Stiles turned his head away from Peter. “Scott, people say that stuff all the time after someone passes. Okay, maybe not all the time, but it’s not uncommon for people to think they see their loved ones.”
“No, Stiles! Someone got a photo of her at some party last night and posted it on their blog. Here just give me a sec…” A tapping sound came over the line as Scott fiddled with his phone. A few seconds later Stiles’ phone buzzed with a text.
Stiles opened the text to find a link to the blog. He went to the blog’s page and whistled in admiration. “Damn. Looks like a rager.” Dozens of pictures told what a wild party it had been with most of the students in attendance topless, covered in body paint, and sporting large cups of alcohol.
“Look at the seventh one down, behind the girl in the pink tube top.”
Stiles did so and squinted. He’d only seen pictures of Trisha, and the brunette girl in a tank top and jean shorts ducking out of the picture looked a little like the girl. “Is there a better photo?”
“No, but her friends swear it's her.”
Stiles bit his thumb, taking in the information. He hadn’t been lying to Scott when he said loved ones sometimes claim to see the deceased; however, Stiles had firsthand experience with the dead coming back to life.
Peter had moved from the bed and had taken to kneeling next to Stiles. Stiles leaned into Peter’s chest, searching for support as he debated how to respond to Scott. “Freaky.”
“Dude, that’s not even the half of it.”
Stiles tensed. “Scott, why do I get the feeling you should have led with what you are about to say?”
“Probably because I should have, but my literature class taught me about story progression and the importance of pacing out info—”
“Scott.”
“Right! Sorry! Anyway, people think she was haunting the party and looking for revenge or something.”
Stiles’ throat went dry. “Revenge?”
“Yeah,” Scott’s voice went somber. “Stiles, someone was killed at that party.”