Chapter Text
The Invaders (1 new message)
Stiles: i brought pizza and wine and a horrible movie so in the words of rory gilmore, i’m ready to wallow now.
Peter stares down at his phone for a few long moments, rereading the message on the screen. Then he sighs and puts the phone on the counter, face down, and wonders for the millionth time in the last year how, exactly, this became his life. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, takes a drink, and sets the bottle on the counter next to his phone. His eyes dart from the phone to the bottle then out to his empty living room only to snap back when his phone buzzes again.
The Invaders (1 new message)
Stiles: bought not brought. i am sitting home alone therefore i brought that nowhere. and yes that is a not subtle attempt at telling you all i want company.
A year ago a message from Stiles that had nothing to do with one of their little merry band of disasters being injured or on death’s doorstep would have simply been ignored. A year ago Peter barely gave a crap about Stiles and cared even less for all the rest of them six and a half out of the seven days in a week.
The Invaders (5 new messages)
Jackson: Why aren’t you curled up on Peter’s couch if you wanna wallow? That’s like your fav wallowing position.
Stiles: cause they aren’t back yet and as much as i don’t have a problem with b&e it’s just not the same wallowing on his couch by myself
Jackson: You’ve totally done that haven’t you? Broken into his place while he was gone and cried into the weirdly soft pillows he has on that couch.
Stiles: … is it breaking in if i had a key?
Jackson: Maybe not breaking in but seeing as how I know how you got the key it is still kinda suspicious.
A year ago he barely had any connections with anybody.
Today he’s standing in his kitchen staring down at his phone after having spent the last three days touring campuses with Erica and Vernon and reassuring them both that even as werewolves they would manage to fit in and survive any campus they chose. Erica is in the bathroom “showering off the smell of other people” and Vernon had gone back home to talk to his parents about his trip and Peter is staring at his phone debating the pros and cons of telling the other two that he and Erica and Vernon are, in fact, back.
“I’m done,” Erica says, startling him out of his thoughts. “Your turn.” He nods and sticks his bottle of water back into the fridge. “Thanks for letting me go first.”
He gives her a soft smile, the that kind he hadn’t used much since before the fire but are becoming more common the longer he’s around these ridiculous teenagers.
“You’re welcome, my dear. It’s easier for us born wolves to handle that much time in a new place around complete strangers. But you’ll get more used to it before too long. And once you’re wherever you decide to go the smells will be less intense the longer you’re there.”
She nods just as Peter’s phone vibrates again.
“Do you want me to let them know we’re home? Or do you want some more time?”
His heart doesn’t clench painfully at the casual way she refers to his apartment as ‘home’ but it does thump a little harder for a beat or two. She could be referring to the town in general but he knows she’s not. Not with how she’s practically moved into his apartment these days, her and Jackson both. How she and the others all have snacks in the cupboards and drinks in the fridge and are constantly leaving behind school books and sweatshirts and video games.
“Go ahead if you’d like. I won’t be long.”
Erica grins at him and grabs his phone, the glint in her eyes practically daring him to say something as she unlocks it and starts typing. He simply rolls his eyes and heads for the bathroom.
His phone is on his dresser when he finishes his shower and slips into a pair of sweatpants and a soft t-shirt but he doesn’t even bother checking it. He can hear the beat of two familiar hearts and he wanders into his living room to the sight of Stiles curled up on the couch with his head in Erica’s lap. Whatever movie they’re watching is filled with explosions and horrible special effects but neither of them seem too interested in it. Peter doesn’t try to listen in on their conversation, doesn’t let the way they both fall quiet when he approaches them bother him. He just bends down so he can ruffle Stiles’ hair and then stands and squeezes Erica’s shoulder before he heads for the kitchen.
“Do you still want the pizza,” Peter asks. “Or did you want me to make some pasta?”
Stiles mumbles something that even Peter would have to strain himself to hear and Erica replies, “Pizza.”
“Pizza it is.”
Frozen pizza it may be but at least it isn’t the cheap shit that Stiles used to buy. Which is good because that means he’s taken Peter’s advice about what kind of frozen pizza is appropriate and what kind is just pathetic. But it is also bad because for Stiles to spend this much on frozen pizza he had intended to eat alone that means he’s feeling even worse than Peter realized.
Also the boy used his fake ID to buy wine. Not even beer or liquor. But wine. The boy is in some severe need of comfort food and shitty movies if he’s willingly buying wine at his age.
Peter hangs around in the kitchen while the pizza cooks, leaving Erica to comfort Stiles. He checks a few emails. He answers Jackson’s message to him from earlier that day about potential job options if he chooses not to go to law school next year. He spends a few minutes translating a couple of passages in the latest Hunter journals he had found.
By the time he cuts the pizza and piles it all onto a couple of plates to take into the living room Stiles is sitting up on the couch. He’s still pressed about as tightly against Erica as he can without crawling into her lap. But he’s sitting up and Peter will take that for the win it is.
“Are we talking about it?”
Stiles doesn’t answer until Peter has set drinks for all three of them on the coffee table and settled into the oversized armchair that he prefers.
“Not with you,” Stiles says softly, gaze darting between Peter and the food on the table. He doesn’t seem too tense. Not overly worried that Peter will be upset by his words. But there’s still a touch of hesitation to him. Like maybe he’s afraid Peter will be disappointed in his choice.
“That’s fair.” Stiles relaxes at that and even manages to give Peter a bit of a smile. “Now. What is this disaster that you’ve forced my poor television to play?”
Peter understands, he does. So long as the teens all know that they can come to him if they want to he’s not overly concerned when there are things they don’t wish to discuss with him. They have each other, after all. He’s just happy that his presence, his home, provides them some degree of comfort.
Stiles is in the middle of explaining just why the movie he brought over is so bad it’s good and Peter can’t help but smile that soft smile. It grows even softer when his gaze drifts to Erica, half asleep with her head on Stiles’ shoulder but still making encouraging noises every now and then. Noises that Stiles smiles at every time before he presses a distracted kiss to Erica’s cheek.
A year ago he would have never been watching this crappy movie.
A year ago eating frozen pizza would have been at the top of a long list of shit he wouldn’t be caught dead doing on a Sunday night.
A year ago his apartment hadn’t been invaded by teenagers.
A year ago his apartment hadn’t felt like home.