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It was shortly after Stiles discovered he had magic that he accidentally cursed them.
He had found a spell to remember past lives and had decided the Nemeton was the best place to try it out. He was new at this, and he'd read it would amplify the spell.
And then it got a little out of hand. Or at least that's how Stiles would describe it later.
Peter on the other hand would describe it as that time Stiles somehow summoned a tornado, and a lightening storm; then had to be saved. The spell of course failed. Or so Stiles had thought.
Until he died, and was reincarnated fifty years after his death.
Some small children can remember past lives, however usually they forget by the time they're old enough to really talk. But not Stiles. Stiles remembered everything, the werewolves, the battles, the pain, his own death.
He was locked away in a mental ward by the time he was twelve. His new parents were not the forgiving types, or the caring types for that matter. Though he hadn't told them anything about past lives, his consistently strange behaviour had rapidly become labelled insanity.
Admittedly the point of no return may have been attempting to steal an ancient magic book from a nearby museum. Security systems had apparently improved in ways Stiles hadn't anticipated.
When he was sixteen another boy a couple years older arrived, and became his new cellmate. The orderlies had hauled him into the facility shouting and lashing out. One of the orderlies backhanded the boy, and told him if he didn't stop struggling they'd sedate him. It was at those words that the boy stopped fighting and sullenly settled onto his cot.
As soon as the orderlies left he was back up exploring the corners of the room. Two small slatted metal windows, and the singular metal door. There was something oddly familiar about the way the other boy stalked from one end of the cell to the other, he was like a caged animal.
After watching the other boy take two more laps searching around the cell he finally spoke up, "You won't find a way out, I've been here for four years, not one successful escape that whole time."
The other boy stopped moving and turned around sharply to look at him. "Well they're not me, I have..." he trailed off suddenly, "Do I know you?"
"What part of four years didn't soak into your brain?" Stiles rolled his eyes, "Unless you were in here, probably not."
"What's your name?" the older boy took a step closer to the cot where Stiles was comfortably lounging.
"Why?"
"Humor me."
"Stiles," he had never gotten used to his new name Bradley, and once he'd been thrown in here he'd abandoned it entirely, after a moment of complete silence he decided to explain, "I know, I know, what kind of a name is Stiles? But-"
His speech was cut off when the other boy stormed across the room only stop himself and loom over Stiles cot, "So it is your fault."
Stiles froze for a moment suddenly very distracted by the intense blue eyes, "What is?" he finally asked licking his lips.
"You moron. You mean you haven't figured it out?" an exasperated sigh escaped his new cellmate, "I'm Peter. Hale. Reincarnated, just like you; except we remember because you're an idiot."
Stiles eyes widened suddenly and he was scrambling into a seated position, voice desperate, "Peter Hale?"
Peter raised an eyebrow, "Well Stiles, if I'd known you wanted me that badly I would have been here sooner."
Stiles moved towards him and then suddenly grinned, "Oh thank god, I was starting to think I actually was crazy."
"That's still up for debate," Peter informed him crisply.
Suddenly Stiles laughed, "So, how did you end up locked in here?"
Peter scowled, "You first."
Stiles shrugged, "I tired to steal a magic book from a museum, needed something to jump-start the flow of magic ya know, new body, new time, different connection. I didn't realize how much security technology had advanced in the last fifty years."
“We are living in a completely corporate run America, of course the security technology has improved,” Peter rolled his eyes.
“I was twelve!”
“Only physically.”
“Fine, if you're so great why are you locked up in here with me?”
"I was trying to convince a local alpha werewolf to bite me to absolutely no avail, and I may have gotten a little violent when she said no."
Stiles raised one eyebrow.
"Okay, very violent."
"You got in a fight with an alpha werewolf, as a human. Genius."
"I had weapons."
"Why am I not surprised you want to be a werewolf again."
"You're awfully smug for someone who was trying to get their magic back."
"Point taken."
“I'm surprised there are werewolves around here still, not much nature left to run free in.”
“They've adapted, the under levels of most large cities may as well be jungles, besides, nature will always find a way.”
Stiles stood from his cot to peer out the window, "So, how are you getting us out of this one?"
"You assume I'm bringing you with me."
"I'm too cute to leave behind," Stiles smirked and turned back around.
Peter's eyes roamed up and down Stiles like he was a piece of meat, "There is that."
"Good to see some things stay the same no matter what creeper wolf."
It took a few days before Peter had decided their best bet was knocking out the orderly who brought their breakfast. It was usually very early in the morning, and hopefully they would be caught off guard. Unfortunately their first attempt to escape failed horrendously, they'd been caught at the second set of doors, or more accurately by the second set of doors which had some sort of energy field built into them, Stiles was tasered and then dragged back to their cell, he didn't see Peter for two days.
When the guards finally brought him back he'd clearly been beaten, and he was covered in blood. They threw him into the room without so much as a word and then the door slid shut.
When he got close Peter reached his hands out aimlessly and Stiles dropped to his knees next to him allowing the other boy to grab his hand. A choked sob escaped Peter, and then he passed out.
“Peter?” Stiles reached out and gave him a light shake.
When the other boy didn't move panic set in; he'd only just found someone from his past life and he wasn't going to lose that, even if that someone was Peter Hale. Taking a deep breath he tried to remember what to do. Pulse. Check his pulse. A steady thud, thud, met his fingers and he sighed in relief.
It took Stiles a day and a half of trying to clean up and bandage him before Peter woke up again. Stiles had ripped apart one of his sheets in the process, but he considered it well worth the effort. He was dozing on his own cot in the middle of the night when Peter woke and rasped his name into the darkness of the cell.
Stumbling to his feet Stiles hurried across the room and dropped to his knees next to the other boys cot, “Right here. Almost thought you'd died on me creeper wolf, that would have been very rude you know?”
Peter let out a pained laugh for a moment and then grabbed Stiles shoulder in the darkness, squeezing for a moment before allowing his hand to drop back to the cot, “I'm not done yet.”
It was a month before Peter could walk properly. He complained bitterly about being human the entire time, to the point where Stiles sometimes thought about throttling him.
"The next attempt must be better," Peter informed him one day as he examined the windows with his hands clasped behind his back, "And I have an idea."
Stiles frowned, "It had better be a good one, or they might kill you next time."
"Better dead than living in a cage," Peter informed him crisply; "Also, you're not going to like it."
The idea as it turned out was making a phone call to some hunters Peter had used to track down the alpha in the first place.
"Won't they want to kill the alpha and her pack?" Stiles asked.
Peter shrugged, "She would never have bit me anyway, I'll have to find a different one."
Stiles tilted his head, "She might if we saved her from some crazy hunters."
Peter raised an eyebrow, "And how precisely do you intend to stop a bunch of hunters?"
"That book is still in the local museum," Stiles pointed out casually, "And if I was back to form...I could stop them."
The hunters method of helping them escape involved a large vehicle, a chain, and literally tearing a piece of the mental ward's wall down.
Stiles rolled his eyes, "Can always trust a hunter to be as subtle as a hammer."
A short bark of a laugh escaped Peter as they scrambled out of the hole in the wall.
“Peter,” a large burly man covered in scars and cybernetics motioned to the vehicle, “Get in.”
“My friend will be joining me as well.”
“That wasn't the deal,” the man growled.
“It's the deal now,” Peter responded crisply, “You're taking us both, or you'll never catch your prey.”
“Fine.”
During the trip Peter gave the hunters just enough information that they were happy, and they were dropped off in a sketchy part of the city without so much as a 'see you around.'
“Is it possible hunters have actually gotten grumpier?” Stiles quipped.
“Grumpier and meaner,” Peter informed him leading their way down a dark street that seemed to only be lit by the neon signs hanging off the nearby shops, “Security and weapons, that seems to have been the main focus of the last fifty years.”
“Great.”
Eventually Peter led them to a wall made entirely of scraps of wood and slid a piece of plywood out of the way, “No one has set off the traps, so either someone is very good, or no one found this place, lets hope for the latter.”
As it turned out no one had found the hiding place and Peter was rapidly gathering up a gun and some prepaid credit cards, “First order of business is some new clothing, and then we can start figuring out how to get that book. We should have at least a week before those idiots get anywhere close to finding the pack.”
After finding some clothing (Peter apparently still favoured v-neck shirts), he paid for a motel room and they'd sat down to work.
Stiles had been noticing that Peter seemed to have been sitting and standing closer to him since they got out, brushing against him in spaces it could have easily been avoided. He was almost starting to think it was simply that Peter enjoyed messing with him, until on the third day in the motel when Stiles had managed to trip over his own notes on the museum.
Stiles had been moments from cracking his head open on the nearby wardrobe when Peter reached out and caught him. Peter pulled Stiles to his feet but didn't move his arms from around him, "You know, it's really a miracle that I died first."
"I can take care of myself," Stiles frowned.
"Oh, sure you can Stiles," Peter edged slightly closer, "That's why I had to catch you."
Peter's face was only a couple inches away and Stiles finally couldn't take it any more. He reached a hand up and laced it through the taller boys hair and then quite forcefully pulled Peter into a kiss.
For a moment Peter didn't move at all, maybe he'd read the signals wrong? But just as he was about to back away Peter's hand found the small of his back and the kiss was returned passionately. He was kissing Peter Hale. His life was officially completely ridiculous.
When they finally broke for oxygen Peter pressed his forehead against Stiles and grinned, “You have no idea how long I've wanted to try that.”
“How long?” Stiles asked suddenly curious.
“Remember when I kidnapped you?”
“Hard to forget something like that.”
“Since then I think.”
Stiles eyes widened, “That was, but you never...”
“Well I kidnapped you, and tried to murder your best friend at least a couple times, besides, you really only had eyes for Lydia; I didn't think you'd be interested.”
Stiles paused and then shrugged, “Not sure really, it all seems too far away now.”
Peter grinned, “Lucky me.”
“So...” Stiles threw on his best innocent look, “How about trading in for a room with a king size?”
“That could be arranged.”
A day later with Peter's input and contacts, the heist went off without a hitch, and Stiles finally had his book. He spent the night pouring over it while curled into Peter's arms, and finally he could feel his magic again. His innate spark. It was like he'd gotten a piece of himself back. He realized that must be what it was like for Peter, being human instead of a werewolf must be like missing half of himself.
The werewolves were surrounded. Their alpha lay injured, surrounded by her pack. The beta had tried, god how he'd tried to protect them all, but this was it, they were going to die.
“You had a good run,” The leader of the hunters laughed holding up a large gun, “But it's time you were put down for the good of everyone.”
“Do you practice lines like that in the mirror every morning?” A sarcastic voice echoed down the alleyway. The beta looked up, two boys stood casually in the entrance of the alley, he recognized the older one as the boy, Peter, who had begged their leader to bite him, but the younger was unfamiliar to him.
“Run,” The alpha choked out, there she was, always caring about others, even now.
“She's right,” The hunter snarled, “This doesn't concern you boys.”
“That would be where you're wrong,” The older boy smiled, “If you wouldn't mind Stiles?”
A bigger grin split the younger boys face, “Not at all,” And then with that his eyes became completely white and he reached one hand out towards the group.
“Fucking witches!” The hunter turned to point his canon towards the boys, Peter stepped in front of the younger boy as though he thought he could protect him with his body.
This was their shot, the beta growled and launched forwards knocking the man to the ground.
Absolute chaos broke out in the alley, hunters were shooting, werewolves were attacking in a desperate last ditch effort, and over it all the sound of the younger boy chanting.
Strange glowing runes lit up the alley, rapidly surrounding the group and then with a snap of the boys fingers the hunters were simply gone, their weaponry crashing to the ground where they'd stood.
The younger boy slumped into the arms of the older boy who caught him, the effort had obviously drained the young mage of energy, his breathing coming in slightly pained rasps.
The alpha was pulling herself to her feet and pressing one hand to her injury spoke, “Is this why you wanted the bite? To protect him?”
Peter hesitated a moment before speaking as though trying to decide what to say, “It wasn't, it is now.”
“You swear you'll keep him safe? Our kind is dying Peter, magic is dying, someone like him, he could bring it back, correct what humans have done to the planet.”
“If that's what he wants to do,” Peter cut in sharply, “But I do swear to keep him safe, no matter what he does.”
“Then fine, I will give you the bite tomorrow morning before we leave town.”
The younger boy finally looked up clearly having caught his breath, “That was a mean one, haven't had backlash like that in years.”
“Where did you send them?” The beta asked.
A giddy laugh escaped the boy, “Onwards.”
The beta wasn't really sure what that meant, but he decided he was okay with that.
The next morning the Stiles made sure he and Peter were already at the meeting spot when the pack arrived. He was cuddled up against Peter inside the other boys jacket.
“I see I didn't truly need to bother making you swear,” The alpha said in an amused tone, she looked much better with a night of healing behind her, and Stiles finally had a better look at her, she was a well muscled woman in her late forties, she definitely didn't look like the sort of person you'd want to mess with.
“No, you really didn't,” Peter's voice rumbled in his chest.
“And you mage, feeling better?”
Stiles reluctantly peeled himself away from Peter to address the pack properly, “Much better, I found a ley-line to connect to last night.”
The alpha insisted Peter sit down before she bit him, and then without further aplomb she proceeded.
Peter hissed from the pain but didn't react any more than that, “Thank you.”
“You're welcome,” she stood from her kneeling position, “May you both have good fortune in this lifetime, if you have need of us, I'm sure you'll be able to find us.”
As she turned to start walking away Stiles titled his head, she'd said in this lifetime, “What's your name?”
She turned back with a casual grin that rang bells of familiarity in his head, “I knew you'd get to the right question Stiles.”
“You're the McCall pack aren't you?” Stiles gasped.
She laughed, “Aiko McCall,” she responded with a tilt of her head, “Scott was my father. I don't think he would have ever guessed at you two getting together in any life, but if you ask me, I think you fit just right.”
Peter's head shot up, eyes widening in shock, “You knew who I was from the start.”
A frown briefly crossed her face, “Of course I did; don't make me regret changing my mind.”
And with that the werewolves left and Stiles slid down to sit next to Peter. After a few minutes Stiles swore.
“What?” Peter asked letting his head fall sideways to rest on Stiles shoulder.
“I forgot to ask if Kira was still around, she must be right? And what happened to the rest, to everybody else after I...after I died.”
Peter sighed and sat up reaching out one hand to turn Stiles face towards him, “Sometimes you should just leave things in the past, besides we apparently have a lot of work to do in the present.”
Stiles nodded after a moment, he was right, there was a lot to do, first thing being finding Beacon Hills and his Nemeton if it still existed. “Well creeper wolf, ready to bring magic back into the world?”
Peter grinned and his eyes flared blue, “I am now.”