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Stiles, for all that he's surprisingly clever and competent under all those layers of clothing and snark, is only a fleeting blip on Peter's radar prior to his untimely death. Offering him the bite as a reward for locating Scott had been a flight of fancy, a brief acknowledgement that Stiles could potentially be a great asset to Peter, to the pack as a whole - but nothing more than that. He's amused by Stiles' refusal, and a little peeved at being delayed for even that minute, but with bigger fish to fry, Peter doesn't linger on the event for too long. He dies shortly thereafter anyway and has to dedicate what little energies he has left to him to manipulating Lydia and resurrecting himself. He doesn't have the chance to revisit the subject of Stiles until after they discover the alpha pack's mark on the front door of the house.
"You know we'll need Scott on our side for this, right? Fully, I mean," he says to Derek one night. Isaac is sleeping twenty feet from them, and Peter allows himself a smile when he full-body twitches at the sound of Peter's voice. He's grown fond of Isaac over the last few weeks, despite his general mistrust of adults and standoffishness. Still - "Isaac's about as useful as a newborn baby, and I'm not in prime condition." He stops short of admitting he's not sure he'll ever be back in top shape. No sense in getting Derek's hopes up.
"I'm well aware of that, thanks," replies Derek. "If you have any brilliant ideas on how to get him to cooperate, I'm all ears."
"Nothing entirely consensual comes to mind, unfortunately." Derek scowls at him. "Hey, I said 'unfortunately'. That has to count for something."
"Very little, unfortunately."
Peter presses back against the couch cushion and stares up at the ceiling. "I'm surprised, though," he says after a moment's silence, "that you didn't go for Stiles. That you approached the others before him, I mean."
"Why on earth would I bite Stiles?" Derek asks. He looks genuinely confused, as if the thought would never have occurred to him if Peter hadn't said anything.
Peter turns his neck to stare at him. "Sometimes I wonder if we really share a bloodline." Derek opens his mouth, probably to make some angry retort about sharing the sentiment, but Peter waves him off and stands up from the couch. He makes his way over to the spot on the floor he's chosen as his (temporary, if he has anything to say about it) sleeping area. "Forget it."
He waits all of a week before scaling the side of the Stilinskis' house and climbing through the window into Stiles' room. Stiles jumping out of his desk chair and backing into the wall is an entirely expected reaction. Peter would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it just a little bit.
"I was sort of hoping to avoid you for a really long time," Stiles says. "Preferably forever. Pretty sure I could've managed it, too, if it weren't for your freaky werewolf stalking tendencies."
Peter beams at him, unable to find Stiles' insolence anything but utterly precious. "Unlikely," he says with a warm smile. "Derek is going to need all the help he can get with the alpha pack, and you're not unintelligent, as teenagers go. I suspect we'll be working very closely with each other."
"Uh, no. I'm tapping out for a while. The new pack is officially not something I can or want to help with."
"Is that a fact."
Stiles stares at him, then sighs and sits back down in his chair. "I'd really like for it to be a fact," he says with a sigh. "You realize I can't actually help you, right? This alpha pack stuff is sounding more and more like a territory thing, no research and/or heroic jeep crashing necessary. Unless the plan is for you guys to round up the other alphas so I can trap them with some of Deaton's mountain ash and then you talk them out of Beacon Hills."
"As much as I'd love for it to be that easy," Peter says, "I have a feeling that's not going to be the case." He sits down on the end of Stiles' bed. Stiles shifts a little then stops, as if he wants to put more distance between them but knows it won't make a difference. Peter sniffs at the air surreptitiously, taking in all the scents wafting through the house and the bedroom, including old and fresh arousal.
Oh, he thinks. That's interesting.
Peter's smile grows. He says, "You could ask Derek to bite you."
"No." Stiles' heartbeat trembles ever so slightly but remains steady otherwise.
"Not even a little nibble?"
"You are the weirdest, creepiest person I've ever met," Stiles says, "and I know some really weird, creepy people. I bet you're regretting not biting me even after I said no to you."
"A little, yes. You would have excelled as a werewolf. Derek did himself a disservice by not turning you right off the bat." Peter shrugs. "You're right, though, about this being a territory dispute. To be honest, I'm a little surprised this region wasn't overrun years ago."
Stiles seems to consider this for a moment, then says, "Are you, though?"
"Am I what?"
"Surprised."
Peter runs a hand over his goatee. The question is unexpectedly insightful, and he wonders if maybe he's underestimated Stiles. "Why on earth wouldn't I be?"
Stiles snorts and swings his chair around to face his laptop. "Some people only want things when they're out of reach or need to be fought over, you know? It's a status thing. When there's no one around to fight or to witness the outcome, there's no point in bothering." He runs a finger over the trackpad to wake the screen up and pulls up the Google homepage.
"I suppose you'd know all about that," Peter says.
Stiles' back stiffens, but he doesn't respond. Peter slips out of his window and down the side of the house a few moments later. He feels both enlightened and flummoxed by the conversation, and, for the first time since his return from the dead, he's not really sure what he should do next.
But clearly a visit to Chris Argent is as good a next step as any.
The morning after his conversation with Stiles, Peter breaks into the Argents' house and makes himself at home on their couch, napping off and on for several hours while he waits for Chris to return from wherever it is he goes during the day. He notes that Allison has been away for some time by the smell of things - probably visiting a family member that doesn't want to brainwash her into a xenophobic killing machine. It's for the best, really. She needs to relearn herself and to find a way to move forward with her life, and Chris needs - well. Peter has a few (very inventive) ideas on what he needs.
He grins into the couch cushion, shifting his hips ever so slightly to alleviate the pressure on his cock. He drifts in and out of sleep, and he dreams up a different ending (or two, or three) to the day he first met the young Chris Argent.
It's well past noon when he's woken by the sound of Chris' SUV turning onto the street. He briefly considers getting up and positioning himself against a wall somewhere (casually, as if he's only been there a few minutes), but the sofa is too comfortable, almost ridiculously so. Peter curls around the pillow he's been cuddling close while he sleeps and sighs. May need to steal this once we find an apartment, he thinks lazily. The lock on the front door turns a few moments later, and then the familiar scent of gun oil and metal bursts into the house in full force, accompanied by the loud, steady beat of Chris' heart.
"I am never leaving your couch," Peter calls out. He can almost see Chris jump out of his skin, and he grins against the pillow. "You can't make me."
"I think I could," Chris says. He shuts the door and walks into the living room. Peter opens one eye and finds him standing over him, glaring.
"There's no gun in your hand, so I'm assuming I'm safe," says Peter. "For now, anyway."
"About as safe as you were the day we first met."
Peter chuckles. "So you mean I'm in no danger at all, then."
Chris scowls at him and sits down in a chair across from the sofa. "I'd like to think I'm a little more dangerous at forty-one than I was at twenty."
"And I'm a little more dangerous at thirty-seven than I was at sixteen. Pretty sure we continue to cancel each other out." Peter stretches and pointedly allows his shirt to ride up on his stomach a few inches. His grin widens when he sees a faint flush of red creep down Chris' neck.
"What do you want, Hale?"
"Cooperation in the pursuit of something that benefits both of us. Nothing overly involved."
"You call taking on a pack entirely comprised of alphas not overly involved."
Peter reluctantly levers himself up into a sitting position. He twists his neck, groaning when it cracks, and looks at Chris from under his eyelashes. "Normally I'd just goad you into doing what I wanted," he says, ignoring the little piece of him that desperately wants to know how Chris found out about the alpha pack if it wasn't from him or Derek, "and I hope you appreciate how little fun this is going to be for me, but I think it might be time to simply lay the cards on the table."
Chris gestures at an imaginary table between them. "By all means, then. Lay them."
***
Peter has a lot of experience wrangling bratty children. He was the youngest of his parents' brood by a large margin, barely a teenager when his brothers and sister married and started having children of their own. Laura and Derek (and, later, their cousins and younger sister) were often left in his care, and while he initially balked at often having to babysit when he wanted to be out with his friends, Peter thinks he adapted to the role of caretaker fairly easily.
The experience serves him well now, more than he thought it would. Derek might be twenty-five and an alpha, but he hasn't managed to completely shuck the childish impulses Peter remembers as the cause of so many arguments between the younger cousins. He's hot-headed and quick to take offense, often forgetting to consider the long-term effects of his words and actions. Of course, Peter's memories of Derek's childhood coupled with their more recent disagreements makes dealing with Derek slightly more complicated, too. Derek doesn't back down quite as easily as he did when he was seven, and any condescension, real or perceived, can end (has ended) with broken bones on Peter's end of things. But if Peter has learned anything from the last few weeks, it's that he shouldn't ever write Derek off as a complete infant.
Isaac's disappearance is a perfect example of this.
About a month goes by without the alpha pack making any sort of contact. While they wait, Peter convinces Derek that Isaac's emancipation hearing would go much smoother if he had things like a physical address and maybe a bed and a dresser in which to store his clothes. They find a small two-bedroom apartment for Isaac to share with Derek, and Peter moves into his own a few floors down from them, much to Derek's apparent distaste.
"I have the family bank account information and you don't," Peter tells him. "I think the person who controls the money controls where he gets to live."
"I want you where I can see you," says Derek.
"Crazy thought, but I'll put it out there anyway: you're a werewolf, you can hear and smell me, which is sometimes better than seeing." Peter hands him a check for his security deposit. "Do me a favor and don't wreck the place. Clean your room once in a while. Don't live off bad Chinese takeout."
Derek snarls at him wordlessly, but he takes the check and stalks off towards the landlord's office. Isaac, who still has no idea how to act around Peter, offers him a quick smile before following Derek. Peter waves at him. He tries not to interact with him, though he'd be lying if he said Derek and Isaac's fierce protectiveness of each other doesn't play a large role in that. It makes sense, of course - they're licking their wounds, grieving over Scott's lack of trust in them and the loss of two packmates at the same time, and Peter is at best an interloper.
So Peter is a little surprised when Derek immediately turns to him after realizing Isaac is actually missing and hasn't just flitted off without saying something to Derek first.
"Well, have you asked Scott if he knows anything?" Peter asks. "I seem to recall Isaac saying something about going over there for dinner last night."
"Scott called me and said Isaac never showed up. Stiles hasn't seen him, either." Derek paces up and down the length of Peter's living room, barely controlled anxiety rolling off him in waves.
Well, at least he came here first and didn't go running off on his own like an idiot. Peter resists the urge to pull him down next to him on the sofa (which, by the way, is nowhere near as comfortable as Chris') and comfort him, and instead examines his nails, buffing them lightly against the fabric of his pants while he waits for Derek to continue. It's been raining off and on for several days, which would make an already fading scent nearly impossible to locate in the first place, so Peter doesn't even bother suggesting it. There's really only one other course of action they can follow - safe course, that is, but he has a feeling Derek's not going to like anything he has to say regardless, despite coming to Peter for advice first.
"We'll have to wait it out," he says. He holds up a hand when Derek starts to argue with him. "You know Boyd and Erica are still alive, or we would have found their bodies already. The alphas left their mark on the door, they made a statement, they wouldn't kill your betas without throwing it in your face."
"Then why haven't they given them back yet?" asks Derek. "Why take Isaac? Why now?"
"The alphas want you to know that they have power over you, so they took your betas. They're playing with you, taunting you - but they're not stupid enough to think three dead teenagers showing up near town is going to work in their favor. Chances are we'll see them, alive, shortly." Peter drums out a beat on his knee. "Just wait. I know patience isn't your strong point, but you're going to have to try. At least until the weather is more favorable."
"I don't like it," Derek says, but he's calmer already, all of his aggression visibly bleeding out of his face and shoulders.
"I didn't think you would." Peter waves a hand at him. "Go back upstairs. I have an errand I need to run."
Derek eyes him but doesn't ask anymore questions. Peter continues to lounge on his sofa for another half hour before leaving the apartment. The rain is a fine, frustrating mist, but Peter chooses to run to his destination anyway. It's refreshingly warm, despite the precipitation, and he feels more like himself than he has in a long while as he races his own shadow through the streets of Beacon Hills. He pauses at a corner and sniffs the air, but it doesn't smell like Derek is following him. Good, Peter thinks. This will be easier without him.
In no time at all, he's knocking on the Argents' front door, grinning from ear to ear when the door swings open to reveal Chris, complete with pajamas and bed head and a vicious scowl.
"Oh, were you not awake?" Peter asks. "Odd. I mean, there's a pack of alphas running around stealing my nephew's betas, and you're getting your beauty sleep." He looks Chris up and down, pausing for just a moment on his crotch, and then his chest, and then his mouth. "Not that you need it or anything."
"I seem to remember establishing the fact that I am capable of killing you not too long ago," Chris says.
Peter frowns and shakes his head. "I don't remember that at all. Your couch, on the other hand, features prominently in many of my dreams, often with you on it with me."
Chris rubs at his face and sighs. "What do you want, Peter?"
"I already told you - cooperation. In the more immediate future, this time."
"It's twelve thirty in the morning."
Peter spreads his hands out in an arc. "What better time, I ask you. Besides, this is something of a pressing matter. Time-sensitive, if you will."
"Would you just spit it out already?"
"Fine, fine. Isaac's missing," Peter says. "Factor in two betas already missing in action, and you have one hell of a coincidence. There's an alpha pack about to make a bid for our territory, sooner rather than later."
Chris snorts and leans against the doorjamb. "This is a little more than a coincidence, Peter," he says. "What exactly do you want from me that couldn't have waited until morning?" At Peter's wry look, he adds, "Actual morning, with daylight."
"I already know where they are." Chris glares at him. "Don't look at me like that. I was sort of hoping they'd see how pathetic the state of things are around here and give up before this. Though I can't really blame them. The enormity of the reserve does make this area rather attractive to werewolves."
Chris sighs. "You'd better come inside."
Peter makes his way into the living room and immediately throws himself face down on the couch, careful not to touch it with his shoes. He rubs his face against one of the cushions and says, "Oh god, my dreams have not been doing this couch justice at all. One day you're going to come home and it's going to be gone."
"Get your damp face off my couch," Chris says. "How do you know where the alpha pack is, and why haven't you said anything about it before?"
"To be honest, it didn't occur to me until Derek came barrelling into my apartment half out of his mind," says Peter. He sits up reluctantly, patting against the pillows on either side of him. "After all, we didn't really have cause to use it before your sister so graciously burned our house down, and after that - well, you know how life has been going ever since."
Chris' fists clench at his sides. "Your point, Hale."
"Things were a little less safe around these parts when the Hales migrated out west and first carved out the territory," he says. "Hunters were overzealous in seeking assurance that we and the surrounding packs wouldn't run rampant. My great-grandfather constructed a bunker a few miles away from the house, fortified it so that there'd be a safe area for us to shift and learn. By the time my mother became alpha of the pack, the Hales had all but stopped using it, and only for the most dire cases. I doubt my brother and his wife ever got around to showing Laura and Derek where it is."
Chris is silent following this revelation. Peter hears his heart rate increase slightly, counts the number of breaths he takes, and when he gets bored of that allows his senses to wander and incorporate Allison's vitals. He wonders how long she's been back, and whether or not Scott (or Derek, for that matter) knows that she's returned. She's either asleep or very good at faking it - Peter doesn't know how far they've gotten with her training, or if they're even continuing it, so he's banking on the former.
Chris walks over to the fireplace and leans against the mantle, facing Peter. "You haven't said why you haven't mentioned this to anyone until now," he says finally.
"I think it's sort of obvious."
"Humor me."
Peter slips his shoes off and lays back down on the couch, eliciting an exasperated sound from Chris. "The alphas can forcibly sever the betas' attachment to Derek, either by killing them outright or forcing submission on them, and he knows it. It's more than likely they'll kill them just as soon as they can pin it on him or me, and they'll be able to take the territory without much more interference once we've been arrested. Derek's frantic right now, but he's listening to reason for a change and staying put until we can figure this out."
"Which you already have, apparently," says Chris.
Peter nods. "I need you to set up a raid on the bunker. Tonight."
***
By the time the sun rises and starts to peek out from behind the clouds, Peter is ushering three bloody teenagers along a circuitous route through the woods back to the Hale house. Erica's breath is whistling and wheezing (punctured lung, Peter thinks), and her body is covered in deep gashes and bites that have probably been bleeding steadily for hours, at least. Boyd is worse off - slashes across his face and chest, his shoulder and the right side of his neck are quite literally shredded, and one of his feet looks completely crushed. Isaac and Erica support him as best they can while also trying to keep up with Peter's pace.
The worst part of this experience, he thinks, is the fact that he can't get ahold of Derek. He doubts that Derek's sleeping, not while his betas are missing. Peter hisses for everyone to stop and catch their breath as he taps at his phone and tries Derek again, cursing under his breath when it goes right to voicemail again. He stuffs the phone back into his pocket. They're not far from the house now, but they can't stay there indefinitely, and the window for getting them back to Derek and Isaac's apartment unseen is closing rapidly. There's really only one other person he can call, now that Chris is preoccupied with chasing off the other alphas. They stop a few hundred yards from the house, and he pulls his phone out again, searches through his contacts, and presses down on the number he'd stolen from Derek's phone weeks ago.
Stiles' voice is rough and sleep-heavy when he answers the phone. "Hello?"
"Stiles, you need to come pick us up now," Peter says.
"Wha - Peter? How did you even get my number?"
"Not important. I have Isaac, Boyd, and Erica with me, and we need someplace safe to stay until I can get in touch with Derek."
Peter hears rustling and Stiles' nonverbal grumbling on the other end of the line, and he knows that he's at least listening and on his way. It's almost unnervingly quiet while he waits for Stiles to confirm that he's left, he thinks. He finds himself focusing on the number of breaths Erica takes, and the way Boyd's heartbeat increases every time he tries to put pressure on his injured foot, and then Isaac's bones creaking underneath his skin and Boyd's weight -
"Where are you?" Stiles finally asks, breaking into Peter's concentration. "Tell me you're near the house."
"Not too far from it," he confirms. "Chris Argent and some of his associates are driving the alphas off, but I don't trust the ones he left behind at the house not to be waiting there to finish us off."
Stiles snorts. Peter hears the jangle of keys, and then the slide of one into the jeep's starter just before the engine turns and roars. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Just be thankful my dad got called in to the next town over, otherwise you'd be SOL, buddy."
"You can be smug about me calling you for help later," says Peter. "Hurry up."
He hears the jeep pull up twenty minutes later. The door opens and slams shut, and then the heavier footsteps of one of the hunters Chris assigned to stay at the house wander in that direction from around the back. Peter's breath catches when the hunter's gun snaps and Stiles' heartbeat speeds up in response.
"Woah there," Stiles says. "You want to maybe point that somewhere else? Nobody here but us humans."
"That a fact," the hunter says.
"I got a pocketful of mountain ash here that says that is definitely a fact, my man," Stiles says. "Also I have Chris Argent's daughter on speed dial if you need someone to vouch for me. Number seven."
The gun clicks again, and Peter lets out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He doesn't know how he's supposed to get the other three to Stiles yet, but inspiration is sure to strike at any moment. He hopes it does, anyway.
A high-pitched howl echoes through the woods a moment later.
"Scott," Isaac whispers.
Peter doesn't snap I know my own beta's howl back at him, which he considers a show of great personal growth. The hunters at the house are suddenly on high alert, all of them gathering their gear and moving in the direction of the howl. A second howl joins in with the first. Peter is both relieved and annoyed to know that Derek is out there as well. Little bastard, ignoring my calls so he can run around like a fool with Scott, he thinks.
It's having the desired effect, though. The hunters have moved off, leaving only Stiles by the house, so Peter motions for Isaac and Erica to resume moving Boyd in that direction. Stiles is leaning against the driver's side door, forced relaxation etched into every one of his muscles. He snaps to attention when he sees them emerging from the woods, and he starts forward to help carry Boyd back to the car.
"What the hell, Peter?" Stiles demands.
"Not my fault this time." Peter helps Erica into the backseat, ushering Isaac in after her. He shuts the door and says, "I don't think you'll be able to sit this one out anymore. Sorry."
"Shut up," Stiles says from behind gritted teeth. He shuts the passenger door on Boyd's side and climbs in front. Peter gets in beside him and does his best not to smile when the car starting sounds ever so slightly angrier than usual. "I hate werewolves."
"Now, now," says Peter, "you and I know that's not exactly true."
Stiles doesn't take the bait, but Peter senses him tensing up as he drives them out to the main road. He opens his mouth to continue, but Derek's and Scott's scents appear alongside them, following them. None of the hunters are nearby, and there's no blood in the air, so Peter assumes they ran around in circles and didn't engage.
Pity, Peter thinks, teeth involuntarily elongating into his fangs. I suppose I'll have to take care of that myself.
The sun is filtering through cloud cover by the time they pull into the driveway. Stiles hasn't said anything since they left the reserve, and Erica's breathing is almost back to normal. He sees Isaac, Erica, and Boyd into the Stilinskis' house, nods to Derek and Scott when they appear the back door, and claps a hand to Stiles' shoulder on his way out.
"You're not staying?" Stiles asks. There's something guarded and cold, tired and oddly dangerous, in his eyes. A spark of pride and satisfaction ignites in Peter's chest, that he could have put such an expression on that face.
"I have some business to attend to elsewhere," Peter says. "I'm sure you'll have your hands full for a while, anyway."
He doesn't give Stiles a chance to respond before he starts running in the direction of the Argents' house.
Chris isn't home when he arrives, but Allison is, and she gapes open-mouthed at Peter when she opens the door after he knocks.
"Morning," he says. "Did you sleep alright?"
"I slept fine, thanks," Allison says. "What the hell do you want?"
Peter rolls his shoulders and neck, savoring the way his bones crack and settle. "Hmm. Coffee, I think, or a nap on that delightful sofa of yours."
Allison scoffs and tries to shut the door in his face. Peter sticks his foot out at the last second and pries it open again. Her fists are clenching uselessly at her sides, and she's glaring at him intently.
"I could kill you," she says in a flat, unfeeling voice.
"I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that you could," replies Peter with fake sincerity. "However, I was being serious - you just made coffee, I've had a hell of a night, and I've recently taken up bothering your father as a hobby. May I come in?"
"No. You can stay out here until he gets home." This time she succeeds in closing and locking the door.
Peter smiles and twists his body down to the ground and waits.
It doesn't take all that long for the sound of Chris' SUV heading their way to reach Peter's ears. The morning chill is just beginning to settle into his bones, and the adrenaline from their earlier activities is finally wearing off, leaving him feeling weary and lazy. By the time Chris pulls into the driveway, Peter is half asleep despite the discomfort of sitting on hard concrete.
"I'm surprised you're not waiting for me on the couch," Chris says as he gets out of the car.
"Your guard daughter wouldn't let me in, not even for a drop of coffee," Peter mumbles. "Smart kid."
"She probably knew you'd be making off with the furniture."
Peter opens his eyes and looks up at Chris' face. "Yes," he says, "that's exactly what she was worried about." He sits up a little straighter and twists his back, groaning in pleasure when his spine cracks. "And what happened to our little friends in the alpha pack?"
Chris shrugs. "We dispatched one of them, but the rest got away. They didn't really seem to be itching for a fight."
"Hmm, must've been all those rippling muscles that intimidated them," Peter says, trailing his gaze over Chris' body. Chris rolls his eyes and gestures for him to get up off the ground. "What? Am I finally going to get you on that couch of yours?"
"Not while Allison is home."
Peter pauses halfway between sitting and standing. "That wasn't a no."
"No, it wasn't." Chris rubs a hand across the back of his neck. "Wasn't a yes, either."
Peter grins with just a hint of teeth and says, "It's a start."