Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

That's two, Stiles counted off in his head as he tapped quietly at his father's desk, paging through the modern day equivalent of wanted posters. Suspicious persons, his dad would call them - those who weren't actively wanted, but still highly suspected to be involved in crimes.

He paused as another face came up, this one with a distinctive hair style and a fashion sense that should have been enough to count as a crime by itself. Checking it against some security footage he'd pulled from this same computer not half an hour before, Stiles confirmed it.

Three.

"Just how many have decided on a surprise visit?" He grumbled, scrubbing a hand through his hair and tapping on through the list. "It's not even a holiday!"

Something creaked down the hall and Stiles froze, finger hovering over the power button.

The ticking of his dad's wall clock in the office was loud. Closing his eyes he tried to focus past it.

Another groan, louder but more recognizable came from the other direction.

Just the house settling.

He resumed his work. His dad was asleep right now in the small hours of the morning, but that wouldn't last forever. Stiles needed to get as much of this information down now if he was going to get on top of this before all hell broke loose.

Four, he finally confirmed, noting the woman's name along with her fellows as he lifted one hand to press against his eyes in an attempt to push back the headache he could already feel forming.

Organized crime popping up in Beacon Hills was something Stiles started planning around and against years ago. He had more than a handful of contingencies and hiding places even when taking werewolves into account. It was just unfortunate that the best help he could get for that was also the biggest pain.

God fucking damn it.

A short flare of familiar Sky had Stiles turning away from where he hunted down Peter's car to look at the man himself just down the street. He didn't quite run over to the outdoor cafe table Peter was sitting at, but 'stormed' was likely the more appropriate word.

"What do you think you're doing?" he hissed, dragging out a chair next to Peter with a clanging rattle so he didn't need to project across the table. There were only a few people at the other tables or at other nearby shops, but that didn't mean anything. Even if he didn't think they'd understand the upcoming conversation, better to take precautions just in case.

"It seemed like you were looking for me." Peter pointed out smugly over his coffee, his relaxed posture only ticking Stiles off more. "It was such a pleasant surprise I didn't want you giving up before you managed it."

"I was managing just fine. I tracked you that far didn't I?" Biting back complaints and insults that wanted to follow, Stiles took a deep breath to try and help himself focus. He didn't have time to fight with Peter today, not when he didn't yet have the option to just walk away if the man became truly obnoxious. "Whatever, that's not important. How did your family deal with the other, uh, Families?"

Please let him get it. A couple of guys chatting was normal, a pair heckling quietly was almost as ignored, but a whispered conversation about the mafia? Even if the little old lady by the door or business man grabbing breakfast two tables away thought they were talking about a book they'd probably be more likely to try and listen in. 

Pausing with a piece of muffin halfway to his mouth, Peter eyed him before answering just a little softer than before.

"We had deals with the nearby packs, but that isn't quite what you meant is it?" When Stiles shook his head, Peter thought it over while chewing. Under the table Stiles' leg bounced and he tried not to be too irritated with the wait. It was just nerves. And maybe a little hunger, he skipped breakfast to track Peter down and it was already well into second period by now. "Hm, well, most of them were under the impression that the Hale Family possessed a minor Sun affinity, with a Storm or Rain cropping up every generation or so."

What?

"How did you play that off?" Suns? Really? When both Derek and Peter were so clearly reaching out for people to harmonize with? "How did everyone visiting not realize how many Skies there were in the Hale family?"

"We all learned control early. Very early." Peter's significant look was a bit lost on Stiles. He might be hanging around werewolves all day everyday, but he certainly doesn't know how difficult that truly was. Then again, his Flames hit when he was still a kid so maybe he understood at least a bit. Satisfied with whatever expression Stiles was making, Peter let his eyes flare blue for a split second. "Besides that the eye colors we can flash really helps sell the story along with our strength. Even the weakest Sun can internalize their Activation which makes them practically inhuman some say."

Werewolf healing, super strength, yellowish eyes. Alright, Stiles was seeing it. That did beg the question though.

"And they didn't try to recruit you?"

"Oh, some did, but none for very long. Most were content that we stay neutral. We aren't what they want from Suns, you see. With it all pointed inward we can't heal anyone else."

For obvious reasons. Mostly, because neither werewolves or Skies could do the magical healing Stiles heard suns were known for. That still didn't explain why they weren't strong-armed anyway. At Stiles' incredulous look, Peter shrugged. "You'll find most of those who would stoop so low as to kidnap are also narrow minded enough to think a Sun who can't heal is worthless."

"Okay, well that's great for you, but what about everyone else? Am I free game?" Because the clock was ticking and if Stiles needed to hide again he was running out of time.

"You're mine." Peter's voice was pitched low, a growl that usually directly proceeded some impressive dental changes grinding out the words, while his eyes burned orange.

"Not only am I not," Stiles ignored the scoff he got in response easier than he'd brushed off the annoyingly warm flare at Peter's stupidly possessive statement, "but that won't exactly fly as an excuse to these guys if they fall for your bluff."

"These guys?" Sitting up, Peter started casually scanning the people around them. It wasn't exactly a busy street, but this close to the center of town it wasn't empty as people ran errands or did business at the local shops. "Who?"

"Out of towners who just got in yesterday from New York." Stiles passed over his small list of names and snagged a piece of Peter's muffin at the same time. He was a bit disgruntled that Peter didn't even frown at that, instead scanning the list before tucking it away in a pocket. "I've been keeping tabs on guys like them since I figured out how. Usually I camped out at the station for a bit until they left, but I don't think that's going to work now."

"I don't know which family they work for, but I do know -" Peter cut off mid-sentence and continued in a lighter tone, "- if you're really that hungry you can just take the whole thing. I can always go get another."

Fuck, that wasn't a good sign. 

"And what would I owe you?" There were a few reasons Peter would change subjects like that, but only one that would make his subtle scanning of the crowd stop just as quickly as it started. Time to play along because there was no time left to hide except for in plain sight. "I'm not exactly made of money."

"I'm more than open to trading favors." Peter pushed the plastic plate over to him and Stiles gave it a suspicious look, hoping that he didn't look as tense as he felt.

"I'm not selling an open ended favor to you for barely half a muffin." Acting or not, Peter would remember any favor owed to him and Stiles wasn't ready to promise that.

"A whole one then?" The smile Peter wore was charming enough to make Stiles' teeth hurt.

"Peter Hale," an unfamiliar voice called out, the accent catching Stiles' attention more than the name. Northeastern. He'd bet at least one whole muffin that it was a New York accent, but he'd be the first to admit that he wasn't more than passingly familiar with them. "I thought you were dead."

"Now where did you hear that?" Peter's tone was light, but Stiles knew for a fact that Peter was fond of using the same tone with his enemies. Conversely, the Sky flames Stiles couldn't avoid for the last few months were locked down tight enough that he could only detect the faintest hint of them. 

Following suit, Stiles carefully dialed his own back even further just in case. With all the danger around town it was odd to not have Lightening just below his skin, but while he wasn't sure he could get out of this without them realizing he might be valuable, he might be able to convince them he was weak enough to be worthless to them.

"Your niece. She said that the whole Family was wiped out, excepting her and her brother of course."

Stiles didn't flinch, but he couldn't manage to keep his eyes from flicking towards Peter to see his reaction. He wasn't nearly as sensitive to taunts about his family these days, but considering he went on a murderous rampage over it before that wasn't saying a whole lot.

"Rumors of my death were somewhat exaggerated," Peter misquoted with a sharp smile. "I'm not what I once was so it took some time for all the burns to heal, but I eventually came out of the coma."

The man shook his head, taking a seat at the table uninvited as one of his fellows - the woman, Nicole if Stiles remembered correctly from the list last night - turned the last to sit in it backwards. Stiles couldn't see the other two, but he was sure they weren't far off.

"It's a shame." The man, who Stiles suspected was one Vincent Hart though it was harder to tell seeing as the guy came to town with his brother, smiled while shaking his head as if contrite as his eyes never left Peter. "Such a Sunny family breaking apart like that, we all hated to see it happen."

It must have been said to get under Peter's skin - this stranger talking about the Hales like they were a commodity lost in transit instead of people who were clearly still very missed. Outwardly, Peter didn't react, not where they could see it at least. His Flames, still more tightly wound than Stiles had ever felt them, seemed to seethe in Peter's grip. The feel of them was still disturbingly comforting even as they seemed to go icy at Peter's anger.

Time to step in before they all made a scene because if they did at least one person was going to die and Stiles didn't want to know which part he'd play when it ended up in the headlines.

"Uh, that's nice, but we were in the middle of a conversation, dude," Stiles broke in before he was forced to become an accessory in another murder. He put on his best 'bored teenager' look and fought off a shiver as both newcomers turned their calculating looks his way. 

One of them, it was hard to tell if it was Vincent or Nicole, reached out invisibly with their Flames. (Mist perhaps? Stiles wasn't terribly familiar with any except his own and, what would surely be strange to any other flame user, Sky, but he heard Mists were particularly good at mental intrusions.) Showing off and revealing himself wasn't on Stiles' list of things to do today, but not only could he not let this person see the secrets he was keeping, he also didn't know how to fake it, so he Hardened his mind against intruders using the least amount of Lightening he could.

His eyes shouldn't have even flickered so instead of calling the Mist out, he bluffed. Crossing his arms like they were simply refusing to answer his question instead of trying to invade his memories, Stiles rolled his eyes and looked at Peter. "Instead of the muffin how about you give me a lift? I'm late."

A raised brow asked where his Jeep was and, yeah, technically Roscoe was only two blocks away, but he wasn't telling these assholes that. He also didn't want to hang out with them to see how insistent the Mist might get testing his 'natural' defenses and if he got Peter out of this at the same time than the Sky would owe him one.

"I suppose I was headed in that direction," Peter allowed after a moment of consideration, picking up his drink before looking back at Vincent who truly had yet to introduce themself to Stiles. "Unless you needed something from me?"

Stiles watched as the man's lip curled and his partner narrowed her eyes at Peter's tone. Probably didn't expect that from a 'weak' Flame user if what they thought of the Hales matched Peter's assumptions.

"Your nephew, Derek," Vincent started before trailing off with a significant look. Stiles tapped his foot impatiently to try and cover his nerves. He hoped his face cooperated and that he still looked bored instead of on edge. He was about to pop. He fought against a flinch when the man finally finished the thought. "Couple of us thought he might be something more interesting than you Hales normally get."

Stiles kept his curses internal and tried not to think about why Derek's Flames might be interesting in case something slipped past to where the Mist might pick it up.

"He is," Peter admitted easily and Stiles gave him a look. Sure, the guy killed his niece when he was half out of his mind (or maybe fully out of it), but was he betraying his last remaining family member while mostly sane? "A Sunny Storm I believe or maybe a Stormy Sun, I could never keep track of how your terms worked. He takes after his mother."

Stiles let his expression shift to full confusion as if he'd never heard those terms before while inwardly he let out a sigh of relief. 

"Any good?" Vincent pressed.

"Better than me these days," Peter said bitterly and Stiles would have believed him if he didn't feel the icy edge of those flames turn warm with humor. He hoped the two interlopers couldn't feel it because it would give the whole game away. "Less than his mother though, probably because she isn't here to help."

Stiles watched as the two interlopers shared a look. Annoyingly they then turned to him. "And you?"

"I'm late, thanks for asking." Not even looking to see what their reaction to his heavy sarcasm was Stiles looked at Peter expectantly. "Are we going?"

"Patience is a virtue." Peter chided him without any heat as he pushed his chair back from the table.

"Yeah, tell it to the due date I'm about to miss." Grabbing his bag from between them Stiles started walking to Peter's car expecting the other man to follow. If he said goodbye to the others at their table, Stiles didn't hear it.

It wasn't until they were three blocks away, headed in not quite the opposite direction of the school that Stiles let out a hissed sigh.

"Shit." There were a lot of things Stiles wanted to say, things that needed to be cleared up, but first, "We good?"

Peter hummed, his lips a thin line.

That was a no. Probably either bugged, being followed, or both.

Great, just great.

Chapter Text

Far too many hours in a car driving around to random places all within one small town was enough to drive Stiles to the brink. Sure, yeah, they stopped and got out of the car a few times, but that wasn't enough when Stiles still felt like he was on the run. Besides, their stops were a grab-bag of interesting and boring. 

They stopped once at a shop for a selection of items that made Stiles' nose itch (he wasn't sure how Peter could stand it), twice at two different gas stations (the first for a strange assortment of snacks and drinks, the second for a bathroom after Stiles realized how long they'd likely be doing this for), and four times at random places just to? Smell the roses?

Stiles had no idea what a park gazebo, a random spot at the edge of the preserve, a grimy alleyway, and the center of a suburban roundabout all had in common, but! He couldn't! Ask! Without someone overhearing! The best he could do was rant about something innocuous. 

Thankfully, when he ran out of things he could safely complain about under the threat of listening ears, there was still one magical phrase that he could say as many times as he wanted to try and make his feelings about this clear.

"Are we there yet?"

"No." Peter droned, trying to go for bored as if Stiles couldn't see his agitation at being asked that for, oh, maybe the thirty-seventh time in the last hour.

Look, Stiles was hoping to get some advice on how to handle members of an unknown crime syndicate casing their town for interesting people to 'recruit'. He did not ask to be kidnapped on a day they had lacrosse practice, even if Peter kidnapping him was far preferable to getting nabbed by their unexpected guests.

Ugh.

But the quality of his kidnapping and the odds of his eventual release aside, if he didn't get to the field by the end of the school day, Coach Finstock was never going to let him forget it. Sick days were one thing, truancy was another, but skipping practice without a good reason? Stiles was almost certain that Finstock would prefer his players be hospitalized instead of committing such a grave sin against the sport.

The boring backstreets of Beacon Hills finally made way for familiar trees and Stiles perked up. This looked promising.

That didn't mean he wasn't still annoyed.

"Are we there yet?" 

"No," the significant look Peter paired with the tired response was answer enough.

Thank god.

Knee bouncing as they made their way down the familiar, if slightly overgrown road to the old Hale house, Stiles checked the clock. Hopefully there was enough time to do whatever the hell Peter brought them here for before Stiles had to hightail it to school. If Peter wouldn't take him, Stiles would make his way there on foot if necessary. Sure he might be late to practice, but at least then he wouldn't be skipping it.

When Peter parked Stiles hopped out immediately, grateful for the chance to stretch his legs. He turned to demand an explanation only to catch Peter's pointed look as he pulled the bags from the car. Groaning, Stiles followed him around the ruined remains of the house to what might have once been their back yard.

What followed was a strange game of pantomime and charades as Peter walked Stiles through some sort of ritual without saying anything that might give away any part of what they were actually doing. The only good part was that Stiles could continue to complain about being late as not only was he legitimately pissed about that, but it was also something that would be expected by whoever planted what Stiles could only assume was the Flame equivalent of a bug spying on them.

Sticks went one way, spices another, and two of the strange health drinks were mixed to finish a symbol Stiles didn't recognize but did his best to memorize. 

It didn't seem to do anything.

"Well?" Peter prompted, pointing Stiles at the symbol.

What was he supposed to do? Walk into it? Set it on fire? Do a song and dance routine?

"Well what?"

Peter flashed his eyes, orange rather than the blue everyone else saw these days, then almost brushed the edge of the muddy circle with both hands before stepping back.

Scrunching his face up at the thought of touching it, Stiles sighed. If he was about to summon a demon because of this he was blaming Peter. Sure, he might get kidnapped by some crime family from the East Coast which he was really trying to avoid, but at least he would still own his soul or whatever. Probably.

Lightning sparked green at his fingers, more flashy than he'd ever shown outside of the safety of his own home, as he crouched down to press his hands to the symbol.

It lit up fast enough that Stiles yelped, flinching back. He would have toppled away from it if Peter wasn't suddenly there, pressing down on his shoulders to keep his hands in place.

Blinking away the spots in his eyes, Stiles squinted at the ground through the fading light. 

Just the ground and not the symbol. 

The sticks, the spices, the mud - it was all gone as if it were never there.

"Alright, what the fuck?"

"Welcome to the Hale Family, Stiles." Smug humor all but dripped from Peter's voice as he finally stepped back, easily dodging Stiles' instinctive and angry swipe as he spun to face him, one knee grinding in the dirt as he almost fell over trying to - Stiles wasn't actually sure what he was trying to do. Smack him? Tase him? It didn't matter, not when he knew he wouldn't connect even before he swung.

"What," he repeated, all inflection of a question ground off in his anger, "the fuck, Peter."

"Provisionally of course, not any part of the Family itself," Peter hummed for a moment, eyeing him with a gratifyingly wary look as Stiles began to calculate how far that shallow grave Peter crawled out of was from where they were - he might need to put its occupant back to bed in it. "I believe most of us would term it as 'allies', but there's another word the mafia uses for the relationship. What was it again?"

"Allies in what way?" The question hissed out from between clenched teeth. Stiles wasn't asking for a culture lesson (though he'd probably spend some time hunting down the term later). "I didn't agree to anything!"

"You did willingly participate in the ritual," Peter pointed out then sidestepped Stiles' half-hearted tackle with a roll of his eyes. "By way of magic obviously."

"And why did I have to do that?" Stiles asked still pissed (even if it was mostly at himself, why the hell didn't he ask more questions?) and trying to angle himself towards his backpack where he kept his emergency wolfsbane (note to self: keep it on his person from now on) even as he felt his heart rate start to drop back to normal levels.

Allies wasn't 'Family' and magic wasn't flames, wasn't an unbreakable soul bond, wasn't an indicator of blind faith like everyone always described guardianship as whenever flame users discussed Skies and their Harmony online. 

Stiles couldn't do that, wouldn't do that, not when he's seen so many people make stupid-ass decisions since he was a kid. Giving up the ability to choose - it was horrifying. Loyalty was one thing, loss of agency was another.

(And some part of him thought back once again to that childish book Cora let him borrow years before and wondered why it never mentioned that kind of control with regards to Sky flames. Stiles still wasn't sure if it was because it was geared to children or if the rumors online needed more than just a couple of grains of salt, but that was a worry for another time, once he double checked that his mind and choices were still his own.)

"Because my family set up wards a nearly a century ago to keep surveillance spells, or Flames in this case, from sticking more than half an hour." Peter's explanation brought Stiles back to the present, where he latched on to the ritual and its purpose instead of letting himself panic over unwanted flame bonds. Panicking could be done later in the privacy of his own home.

"Half an hour?" Stiles let his shoulders relax a little and put his hands to his knees as he thought it over, trying not to fall over as the adrenaline faded. That seemed unnecessarily long. "Not immediately or even just five minutes?"

"I believe the cost for setting something like that up was too high." Peter wrinkled his nose as he smoothed a wrinkle from his shirt. "Something about blood sacrifices if I remember correctly."

"Not something I'd think you were opposed to." Not after all the deaths when Peter first got out of the hospital.

"From the people who wanted the protection," he clarified flatly and okay, yeah, Stiles had to give it to him there. Killing family was a line he didn't particularly want to cross either.

He dragged his thoughts away from his mom and stood up with a sigh, tired from the stressful day and the topic, but needing a few more answers before he escaped to deal with the inevitable fallout of all of this.

"So why the whole road trip?"

"Supplies." As if reminded, Peter went to pick up the bags and empty bottles before cracking open the last drink for himself.

"And the sightseeing tour?" Stiles asked incredulously, grumpy and feeling suddenly thirsty as he remembered that he hadn't had anything to eat or drink since that morning, not including that stolen bit of muffin.

"Throwing them off the trail mostly, a few of those points were warded similarly in the past." Peter frowned as he capped the bottle. "It's been a long time though, so I'm unsure how effective they are these days. I'll need to see about getting a magic user in to renew them."

"Why not Deaton?" It seemed a bit strange to call someone in when the druid was right there. Then again, after how 'helpful' the man was usually, Stiles couldn't blame Peter for the scoff he gave in response.

"Druids aren't usually the best at keeping things out. Their whole philosophy, so far as I've seen, is about balance which doesn't lend itself to keeping some things more secure than others." He glanced at the husk of a home next to them as if unable to help himself then started walking back to the car.

"Well, what about Sparks?" Stiles asked partially as a distraction tactic, partially because he was having trouble hunting down the term for what Deaton believed he was.

He nearly walked into Peter's back when the man stopped short.

"Where did you hear about them?"

"Uh," the look in Peter's eye made Stiles hesitate, but he didn't really need to lie. "Deaton mentioned them once."

That only made the man tilt his head as if listening intently. Fuck, well it was a good thing he didn't lie even if he wasn't telling the whole truth, so Stiles was probably fine?

"Sparks aren't easy to find," Peter finally answered, "but they would be able to handle it."

"How are they different from druids then?" Stiles didn't try for bored or uninterested because he was always trying to get more information on everything supernatural these days. Instead he tried to project a more theoretical or scientific interest.

"From what I've heard and read their power is internal more than external, but I've met one to confirm it before." Peter was watching his reactions carefully and while Stiles did want to press for more he wasn't up for interacting with the man for much longer. Better to get a move on especially with Coach to deal with later.

"Great, well maybe we can find one." Stiles waved to try and hurry Peter back to the car, done with this conversation until he could figure out how to better hide or use this unconfirmed status of his. "Now get a move on, I need to get to practice."

"'We', hm?" Peter gave a slow smile as Stiles scowled, he hadn't even realized he was grouping them together again for the ward project. It was just the natural conclusion, right? They were both in danger, the enemy of my enemy and all that shit.

"Me. Practice. Now."

"Yes, yes." Peter did not have to sound that amused at being ordered around so Stiles tried scuffing some dirt onto his pretentious loafers and only got more frustrated when the man dodged without even breaking stride. "Let's go."

It wasn't until after practice when Stiles was home and trying to research Famiglia dynamics, vassals, and Sparks at the same time on the computer in his own room that he circled back to wonder why he even trusted Peter to get him safely away from Vincent and his fellows in the first place. Why he just followed him and his cues for a whole infuriating road trip instead of demanding answers. Why he could feel Peter's Flames so clearly when the others clearly couldn't.

Focusing inward it took him a few minutes, but he finally located that stupid bond - the thin, mostly latent string that caused him so much trouble when Peter died.

Though still relatively thin, it was now nearly twice the size. Mentally he tried again to separate it further from himself and only managed to do the metaphysical equivalent of tugging at a persistent weed - stripping only a little of the outer layer off, but not truly removing it or changing anything.

Distantly, he felt a similar tug from the opposite direction. Groaning in aggravation, he viciously stomped on the part of him that found the response comforting.

God fucking damn it.

Stupid harmonization bullshit!