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Spell ingredients and magical shit being what they are, you can’t usually get them at the supermarket. Sometimes you can’t even get them at the hidden magic shops that Stiles has been unearthing (no thanks to Deaton). Or if you can, they’re expensive as shit there. Stuff like heirloom silver, or a feather anointed with love, or a mirror that’s seen death.
But that stuff does sometimes show up at yard sales. Stiles goes to one more weekends than not these days, and today he’s struck gold with a multifamily yard sale. He’d been fully prepared to dig through dusty, water damaged boxes all by himself, but Peter had insisted on coming along.
He seems to be regretting it now. Stiles has draped a few shirts over Peter’s shoulder and shoved a box of comics into his hands—looking for spell stuff doesn’t stop him from snapping up stuff that looks fun. “I am embarrassed to be in public with you right now,” Peter says, as Stiles exclaims over a Batman t-shirt and throws it at him, his voice pained
Stiles rolls his eyes and turns to tell Peter he can get lost if he wants, but when he actually lays eyes on the wolf Stiles finds the words dying unspoken. Peter sounds pained. There’s even a little wrinkle in his forehead like he’s trying to look pained. But his eyes… His eyes are fond.
And coming along had been Peter’s idea.
Peter is here, at a giant yard sale, letting Stiles use him as a combination mule and clothes rack, when he could be drinking wine in his fancy apartment or cruising around in his fancy car.
That means something.
Stiles grins, but rather than calling Peter on his lie, just says, “You could use a little embarrassment. It’s therapeutic.”