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It takes Stiles a while to notice. Things are so fucked up after the Nogitsune that odd wildlife behavior doesn’t register. But eventually it calms down enough that his eye for patterns notices them. The foxes. Whenever Stiles is within a hundred yards of the Preserve, at least one fox can be found in the brush, watching him. Usually more than one.
He tells Deaton, who brushes him off, and the pack, but Scott just shrugs and says to let them know if the foxes do more than follow him. Peter seems more interested than the others, but he doesn’t speak up.
For weeks, nothing changes. Then a witch kidnaps Peter.
No one can track him, the witches have gone to ground, and Scott seems like he’s looking for an excuse to stop searching, though he goes along with the plans the others propose. Stiles is furious, and maybe a little scared, when he storms out of a pack meeting and into the Preserve.
The foxes come boiling out of the bushes as if summoned, at least a dozen of them. “I need to find Peter,” he tells them. Really he’s just venting his frustration. How could the foxes do anything if werewolf noses can’t find him?
But they draw closer. The underbrush continues to rustle as more join the gathering. “I need to find Peter Hale,” Stiles repeats, heart pounding. This is stupid He doesn’t even have anything of Peter’s with him to share with them.
Apparently, it doesn’t matter. After a breathless pause, the foxes scatter into the Preserve.
Stiles waits.
Sixteen minutes later, one of them returns.
It leads him straight to Peter.
“Aren’t you full of surprises,” Peter murmurs.
“Secrets,” Stiles corrects. This doesn’t feel like something he should share. Not yet.
Peter smiles. “Of course.”