Work Text:
Teen Wolf || Steter || Teen Wolf || Always/Never Meant to Be || Teen Wolf || Steter || Teen Wolf
Title: Always/Never Meant to Be – Stiles Summer Stories 2026
TW Disclaimer: All rights reserved to Jeff Davis and MTV. This fanfiction on the other hand is entirely mine. No money is made with this, though reviews are more than welcomed.
Tags: m/m, time travel, No Hale Fire AU, soulmates, Spark Stiles, hurt/comfort, fluff, m/f
Main Pairing: Peter/Stiles
Side Pairings: Damon/Talia, Aaron/Fiona, Derek/Paige
Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski, Peter Hale, Derek Hale, Cora Hale, Laura Hale, Talia Hale, Malia Tate, Paige Krasikeva, Noah Stilinski
Original Characters: Dalia Hale, Damon Hale, Aaron Hale, Fiona Hale, Sloan Hale
Writer’s Month Prompts 2026: healing + garden
Summary: Neither Stiles nor Peter ever found their soulmates, nobody ever spoke their words to them. But they found and loved each other. That was enough. Until fate took Peter from Stiles. In his rage, the Spark pours his magic into turning back time. He goes too far, ends up before the Hale Fire. And when he meets Peter in the past… Peter says his words to him.
Always/Never Meant to Be
Stiles Summer Stories 2026
Stiles hummed lazily as his fingers traced the letters running down Peter’s forearm. The wolf stirred in his sleep and grumbled softly before he adjusted so he could wrap his arms around Stiles’ waist to pull him close. When a nose ran along Stiles’ neck, the boy started laughing softly.
“That tickles, you know that,” Stiles huffed, giving a light shove.
“So does you playing with the mark,” Peter pointed out. “What’s with you paying attention to that this early in the day?”
Stiles gave a half-shrug and turned to look at the words. Your eyes are golden. He sucked his lip into his mouth to chew on it. At first, he hadn’t cared about the words on Peter’s skin. Neither Stiles nor Peter had been looking for love when they first started hooking up.
They’d desperately clung onto each other after the train station, found solace and companionship when they were isolated in there and now a mutual understanding that nobody else in the pack could share. And then Stiles had been fool enough to fall in love with Peter. And, well, suddenly he cared very much that there was someone out there who was destined for Peter.
“Derek’s eyes are golden again,” Stiles pointed out in a soft voice.
Peter got very quiet, which told Stiles that the man had had the same thought. Of course he had. Peter had born these words all of his life, had dreamed about the day he’d meet his soulmate, been excited for it. And then he’d turned into the Alpha. Red eyes. And then he resurrected himself, with the blue eyes laced with his guilt over Laura’s death. It was like a deadline, like, oh, now you are past the point of meeting your soulmate. But Derek had done it, had moved on from his guilt over Paige’s death – over his soulmate’s death – and gotten his golden eyes back.
Stiles knew if he were a wolf, his eyes would be blue. There was no getting past the guilt he harbored over the deaths caused by the Nogitsune. The guilt installed in him over the death of Donovan. Regardless of how much Peter reassured him that it wasn’t his fault. That Peter would have gladly sunk his claws into Donovan to tear him apart on Stiles’ behalf, had he been there.
But Peter hadn’t been there. And now Stiles found himself afraid of a future where Peter might also not be there. Where Peter would meet his soulmate and leave Stiles behind.
“Look at me, Stiles,” Peter said with much urgency, reaching out to cup Stiles’ face with his large, warm hands. “I don’t know whether absolution is even possible for me, darling. I doubt I will ever achieve what Derek has done.”
“Shame,” Stiles wrinkled his nose with a teasing grin. “I’d love to cuddle a big fur rug.”
Peter huffed at that but he didn’t let himself be distracted. “And even if I do, even if my eyes return to gold and even if I meet that soulmate of mine, it won’t change anything between us.”
“Right,” Stiles snorted and looked at Peter. “Sure they’re gonna be a-okay with you sneaking around with some high schooler.”
Peter furrowed his brows, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on Stiles’ cheeks. “Darling, you’ll soon graduate. And there wouldn’t be any sneaking around.”
Stiles squinted at Peter at that, but he couldn’t help nuzzle into his wolf’s hands. For a brief moment, Peter leaned in and pressed the most gentle kiss to his lips.
“Any soulmate of mine would understand,” Peter whispered gently. “Because that’s what soulmates are supposed to be, darling. Made from each other, literally cut from the same cloth. Anyone made to be mine would understand that I love you and won’t stop loving you.”
Stiles’ breath hitched at the direct and firm declaration. Peter really sounded like there was no doubt in his mind that he would always love Stiles. Even if he found his soulmate. Stiles frowned unsure, his own hands reaching up to cover Peter’s.
“Loving you is a part of me, Stiles,” Peter said, brushing his lips along Stiles’ cheek, toward his ear to whisper into it. “If soulmates are supposed to complete each other, then mine is going to love you as much as I do. Who knows, maybe we have the same one.”
His hands had wandered and his fingers were now rather pointedly running over Stiles’ own mark. You shouldn’t be here. The soul-mark had always encouraged Stiles’ more reckless and law-breaking tendencies. Because clearly being at a place he wasn’t supposed to be was how he would meet the love of his life. And in a way he had, he supposed. If he hadn’t been out in the woods that day with Scott, Scott wouldn’t have been bitten, Stiles would have never gotten involved in the supernatural and may have never met Peter.
Stiles nuzzled into his wolf’s neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to it that had Peter’s breath hitching. The wolf was very sensitive around there. Stiles grinned against his skin.
“You really think that?” Stiles asked softly.
“I’ve seen soulmates, Stiles. I’ve seen my parents, my siblings, I know that being soulmates means being compatible, in a physical and emotional way,” Peter murmured, his lips brushing along Stiles’ temple. “Your soulmate isn’t a punishment, sent to take your happiness away. Your soulmate isn’t someone you are forced to be with. It’s someone so perfect for you, specifically, that you find happiness with them. And since you are my happiness, I can’t imagine anyone to be my soulmate and to try and take you away from me.”
“You are disgustingly sappy today,” Stiles pointed out with a weak glare. “And I definitely did not expect you to be the first one to say the big l-word.”
Peter brought enough distance between them to look at Stiles with such softness in his eyes. “Darling, you’re the first one who said it. Even if not directly. But, between the two of us, your mark is one that could be spoken any day, and you are… much younger than me – don’t look at me like that, yes, I am aware of my age, thank you very much – but you have many more chances ahead of you to meet your soulmate. I haven’t found mine in four decades, I am passed my golden eyes so the likeliness of this ever being spoken to me is… beyond slim. Yet you are the one fretting about me finding my soulmate. You’re the one lying awake, worrying that you may lose me. You love me. And I hear you. Because I love you too.”
Stiles’ eyes widened and his cheeks darkened before he hit Peter’s chest in annoyance. But all his wolf did was laugh and pull him into a kiss. Urgh. Why was this man so good at reading him?
“I do,” Stiles whispered against Peter’s lips. “Love you, that is.”
“Mh,” Peter’s eyes were so bright as he looked at him. “It is nice to hear.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Your ego doesn’t need stroking.”
“But I recall you quite enjoy stroking parts of me,” Peter whispered darkly.
“…And you ruined the mood, congrats, Creeperwolf.”
/break\
What had started out as sex, as seeking physical comfort and companionship, had evolved into sex. And, at one point, became even more. More than it was ever supposed to be.
After high school, the pack grew apart. Scott was at UC Davis, would still be there for years to come. Lydia was at MIT. Kira was still somewhere in the desert. Derek had come back, had opened a car shop, together with Malia and Peter. Malia was still here. Was the only one still here.
Even the younger members of the pack had graduated and scattered into the wind.
Everyone else was either dead – Erica. Boyd. Allison. Aiden. – or had fled the continent years ago – Jackson. Cora. Isaac. Ethan.
Stiles remained.
Stiles and the Hales remained.
Stiles and Peter remained.
The love between them grew stronger, deeper, in a way that Stiles couldn’t imagine a life without Peter, couldn’t fathom how fate hadn’t deemed them fit for each other. To the point that they both got tattoos, on their bare forearms.
You must be Stiles. The letters, elegant and simple, ran down Stiles’ arm now. The first words Peter had ever spoken to him, when the man had still been out of his mind. They had decided to be soulmates of their own making, forged together not by fate but by circumstances.
When Stiles’ father died on the job, Peter was the only thing that kept him going. When Stiles pushed everyone else away, they thought to give him time, give him space. But Peter gave him what he really needed. Someone to push back, to be there, whether Stiles wanted him or not.
Regardless of how hard Stiles pushed, how cruel he got. And he wasn’t proud of that, of the way he had hurled the fact that they weren’t soulmates at Peter. But Peter didn’t budge. He did the household, he made food, foods Stiles liked that were just right there when Stiles did get hungry even if he didn’t want to eat, Peter became Stiles’ barrier to the outside world too. When Stiles couldn’t hear any more condolences, couldn’t accept any more casaroles, Peter dealt with it. Peter dealt with the funeral home, even footed the damn bill for the whole thing.
When Stiles emerged some three months later – he’d left the bedroom before, had left the house before, but it had all happened on autopilot, as an obligation he followed – he left his bedroom with a genuine desire to go out, for the first time since his father had died.
He took a shower, because he felt like it, not because his hair was unbearably greasy or because Peter was coaxing him into it. He got dressed, grabbed his keys and left his apartment. And then he headed straight for Peter’s penthouse. He made dinner. Nothing fancy, just something simple.
He heard the key in the door, the door opening and the first few steps, before there was silence. Stiles bit his lip at the lack of Peter approaching him. He shouldn’t have come here. Peter was probably sick and tired of him already. He’d finally done it, he had overstayed his welcome.
“Darling,” Peter’s voice was filled with awe as he approached. “You… are making dinner.”
Arms wound around his waist and Stiles readily leaned against his wolf, slotting into place like this was exactly where he belonged. Peter buried his face in Stiles’ neck and inhaled deeply, his nose running along the span of Stiles’ throat and Stiles readily bared it.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered, his voice wobbly. “I’m sorry, Peter. I’m sorry.”
His voice cracked as tears started spilling down his face. Peter shushed him gently and turned him around to pull him against the wolf’s chest. Stiles’ fingers clawed into his shirt as Stiles started sobbing. Gentle fingers ran through his hair, trying to soothe him.
“What are you apologizing for, love?” Peter asked, sounding genuinely confused.
“I was awful to you,” Stiles’ hands balled into fists, clinging onto Peter’s shirt. “I said horrible things to you. I didn’t mean them. I promise I didn’t mean them. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. Fuck, you did everything to keep me alive these past months and I treated you like crap.”
“Oh, darling, if I couldn’t handle you at your most vicious and vindictive, I wouldn’t deserve you at all,” Peter chuckled lightly and pressed a kiss to his head. “You were grieving.”
“That’s not an excuse!” Stiles’ head snapped up to glare at his wolf. “I was… You didn’t deserve any of it, the things I said and how I treated you.”
“Stiles, sweetheart,” Peter’s voice softened. “You were grieving your father. I know you. Better than anyone else alive, at this point. I know your abandonment issues, from your mother’s death. Losing your father has always been your greatest fear, my love. And that fear came true and there was nothing me or anyone else could do about it. All I could do was be there for you and make sure you’d understand, with time, that you aren’t alone, that you haven’t been abandoned.”
An ugly sob tore itself from his throat as Stiles buried himself even deeper in Peter’s embrace, nuzzling his face into the wolf’s neck. And all Peter did was hold him. He held Stiles together so he wouldn’t fall apart. Once Stiles was calmed down again, he looked up at Peter.
“I love you so much,” Stiles said, with force. “You have no idea how much I love you, Peter. You didn’t have to stay, you didn’t have to put up with me, you didn’t have to take care of me.”
“I didn’t,” Peter agreed with a small smile. “But I wanted to. Because I love you. And because I knew and I understood that it was the grief talking, sweetheart. You just lost your father, your only family. When I lost my family, I went on a murderous rampage, dear.”
“That was… That was different,” Stiles huffed and gave his wolf a hard shove.
“Perhaps,” Peter conceded, but he looked far too amused. “But I do understand how much grief hurts and how much it feels like you might feel better if you just get to hurt others. You didn’t have anyone to get revenge on, what happened was a tragic accident. So you lashed out.”
Stiles rested his forehead against Peter’s shoulder. “You didn’t deserve to be the target of it though.”
“I know,” Peter hummed. “And I’m not going to lie and tell you that it didn’t hurt. That it didn’t feel awful that you were pushing me away. That I didn’t miss you. But I knew you would come back to me, because above all else, I believe in our love, darling, and I knew you needed time to heal.”
“I…” Stiles trailed off, there was nothing he could say that he hadn’t said three times over now.
“I know,” Peter smiled and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ head. “You have been on my side for so long now, sweet boy. You fought for me so I could stay in Beacon Hills after the Wild Hunt. You were my solace in the aftermath. I know I was yours too, but our situations were still different. You… You had your pack, your father, people who had fought to remember you and who cared about you with your return. You came to me because they didn’t understand. I came to you because I had nobody else. You have been my anchor, my rock and my life for a long time now, Stiles. I will always fight for you. Even if I have to fight you for it.”
Stiles took a shaky breath and pressed a kiss to Peter’s throat, his face still buried in the crook of his neck. “Thank you. You are the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Hearing that means the world to me,” Peter kissed the top of his head. “Because so are you to me.”
/break\
Stiles was breathing harshly as he came running into the penthouse, his eyes wide. His first thought was: Good. Good, his wolf wasn’t alone. He leapt forward, right into Peter’s arms, but his other arm reached out for Malia to pull her close too. The fact that those two had worked hard to build a relationship in recent years meant the world to Stiles, because in the absence of the rest of the pack, both Malia and Derek had been his best and only friends. And the fact that his Hales had rekindled their relationship, had become a family again, as broken and jaded as they were, was so amazing.
Stiles took a shaky breath at the thought of Derek, his eyes squeezing shut tightly. “I came as soon as I heard. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
“I’m glad you weren’t here, sweetheart,” Peter’s grip on him tightened, his hand shaking. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had to see you exposed to the Nogitsune again.”
“But maybe I could have-“
Stiles was cut off by just how tightly both Peter and Malia were hugging him. Right. Now was not the time. He could have his ‘I should have been there to save Derek’ spiral later, alone. Right now he needed to be there for his Hales, who had just lost yet another member of their family, after already having lost so much. He squeezed them tightly.
“Okay,” Stiles whispered. “Okay, we’re going to take care of all of that, together. I’m here now.”
Peter made a low, soft noise that wasn’t human and Stiles just carded his fingers through his wolf’s hair. All the loss in Peter’s life and now, after he had finally rekindled things with Derek, his nephew was taken from him too soon too. Stiles was going to do everything in his powers to be there for Peter, the way Peter had been there for Stiles after his dad’s death. Because that was what they did for each other. They took care of each other.
/break\
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Stiles huffed out a breath at those words. Stupid fucking words that had haunted him all his life. Now they didn’t matter anymore anyway. Nothing mattered anymore. Malia crouched down in front of him, glaring at him. She looked tired. He felt tired.
“I have nowhere else to be,” Stiles whispered, voice empty.
“You have a home, where you live,” Malia pointed out. “I went there. Everything is stale. The fridge smells gross. You haven’t been there in a while.”
“What for,” Stiles looked up at her with a weak glare. “It’s Peter’s penthouse. There are Peter’s things and Peter’s clothes and the food Peter bought because he wanted to cook dinner for us but he never got to cook that dinner because he died.”
Stiles’ eyes widened as he talked himself into such a rage that he said the thing he didn’t want to say. He clasped a hand over his mouth and his eyes welled up with tears. Malia’s gaze softened. Stiles leaned back against the headstone, feeling the cold against his back.
“You can’t live at dad’s grave,” Malia pointed out.
“I have nowhere else to be, Mal,” Stiles said desperately. “I have been here, waiting for him.”
“…Waiting?” Malia frowned confused before the horrified realization set in. “Stiles… H… He’s not coming back.”
“He did before!” Stiles barked out, sitting upright to properly glare at her now. “Lydia came back for the funeral! The banshee was there! And sure, Derek is dead, right beside him, but you’re alive! Cora came for the funeral too! He could have used one of you! He could have-“
“He couldn’t have,” Malia shook her head and averted her eyes. “We talked about it, after… your father died. Because you scared us, the way you pulled back. Dad said that he couldn’t bring your father back and that he wouldn’t be able to bring himself back again either, because it’s a… one time kind of magic and it took a lot of factors to align there for it to work for him. Derek wasn’t just his blood, Derek was also the one who had killed him. But the guy who killed dad is already dead.”
Stiles’ eyes widened at that. He’d never really asked Peter how he had done it, how he had resurrected himself. Partially because he had always kind of compartmentalized that, as well as Peter’s feral phase, putting it in a neat little ‘before’ box. Separate from post resurrection Peter, separate from the Peter he had fallen in love with.
“He’s not coming back,” Stiles whispered, feeling something shatter in him.
“No,” Malia didn’t meet his eyes. “Stiles, you… I can’t leave while you’re like this.”
“Leave?” Stiles looked at her confused.
“Kira is back. From the Skinwalkers. And she is living in New York, where her parents moved,” Malia bit her lip. “Dad’s dead. Derek is dead. I… I can’t stay here, everything in this town reeks of death. I’m going to New York, to Kira. Come with me.”
“No,” Stiles shook his head. “Everyone I ever loved is here. In the ground. I can’t leave.”
“You can’t dig a hole and lay in with them either,” Malia argued with a glare. “You have to live.”
No, he didn’t. What for. Everyone kept leaving him. Malia was leaving too. Good for her, she had a higher survival chance away from Beacon Hills. But Stiles couldn’t leave. Malia made a frustrated noise as she got up and grabbed him to physically drag him with her.
“Fuck you,” Stiles spat as he was thrown over her shoulder and had to watch Peter’s headstone get farther and farther away. “Put me down! Bring me back to my husband!”
“Your husband is dead and he’s not coming back,” Malia spat, as angry.
/break\
There was one good thing about Malia forcing Stiles back home. Back home was where all of his magic books were. So while Malia cleaned the penthouse and got rid of everything foul, Stiles read. Everything he could about every possible option he had.
He even read up on the specific resurrection ritual that Peter had used. The blood of the killer, the blood of his blood and the harbinger of death. A perfect trinity to bring one back, but it only worked if they had a tether to the banshee, the way Peter had done by biting her.
There were other rituals. Over the next six months, Stiles became an expert on necromancy. He pretended, for everyone else’s sake. So Scott could go back to his wife and son in Los Angeles. So Malia could move to New York. So everyone would stop asking how he was doing.
And while he went to work and while he continued on with his duties as the protector of the lands – all alone now, because after graduating college, Scott didn’t return. Stiles couldn’t even really fault him. This town was cursed. And he’d formed strong bonds at college, built a new pack. While the old pack had scattered in the wind, the pups had found new homes too, settled down where they went to college for. Everyone had moved on with their lives.
Stiles couldn’t.
Not without Peter.
Necromancy was tricky. Usually, it was a bargain with the devil. Often times rather literally, even. The body was returned, but it was possessed by a demon that would use sugared words to pretend to be the deceased. Or the soul was returned but the body kept rotting. Many didn’t fix the cause of death, meaning Peter would have to carry the injuries that had led to his death forever, constant open wounds where the harpies had torn him up. For the majority of resurrection magic, he was too late.
After six months, Stiles gave up on resurrection.
He instead turned to time travel.
If he couldn’t bring Peter back, then he would just turn back time to save him. And why stop there. He could go far enough back to save Derek. To save his dad. To save Allison and Boyd and Erica. To save the Hales from the fire.
Time travel was forbidden magic. Even more so than necromancy. Necromancy came at the price of whatever was left behind by the deceased, all the downsides he had read. But chronomancy came at the price of magic.
If Stiles did this, he would only have one shot. The ritual would completely drain his Spark, there would be nothing left of his magic. And Sparks were the only ones capable of performing this ritual in the first place, because it took that spark of natural born magic within his soul to even perform it.
Stiles wasn’t being stupid about it though. He took his time.
He practiced, learned, gathered all ingredients. He spread the process out over weeks and used it to visit everyone left whom he cared about. Visited Scott, Allison and their son Fletcher in Los Angeles. Visiting Jackson and Ethan in London. Visiting Lydia and her husband in Boston. Visiting Malia and Kira in New York.
Thankfully, Malia was too distracted by her new relationship with Kira to question why Stiles was doing this little goodbye tour. Or why he was acting like a functioning human being even though half his soul and heart had died nearly a year ago.
Stiles eyes dropped to his forearms. The pointless mark of a soulmate who never came for him, not even when he could have needed them. Yes, a tiny part of Stiles had gone oh. Oh, this was how it went. He’d meet his soulmate after Peter’s death, would get to find love and hope again, would get someone to comfort him and help him heal.
But as Stiles sat atop his Nemeton on the one year anniversary of Peter’s death, still unfathomably lonely and not having found his soulmate, his resolution was strengthened by that. His fingers gently ran over the tattoo on his other arm. The mark he and Peter had made for themselves.
Just like they had found each other and fought each other all on their own, Stiles was going to get Peter back, all on his own.
With hard eyes did he start performing the ritual.
/break\
Stiles was disoriented when he woke up atop the Nemeton. It was chilly. Night. After taking a couple of seconds to pull himself together, he scrambled off the tree. He was on a tight schedule here. He checked his bag, relieved that everything had indeed come with him, and then he made his way into the root cellar beneath the Nemeton.
Stiles froze when he looked at the two Hales. So young, the both of them. Derek was just a kid, was younger even than Stiles had been when all this supernatural shit had started taking over his life. And beyond being so painfully young, he also looked so vulnerable as he was cradling his dying soulmate in his arms.
It was the other Hale that took Stiles’ breath away though. Peter. A couple years younger than when Stiles had first met him, all smooth-faced, no hint of his goatee much less the beard Stiles had come to love in later years. The arrogance of youth radiating off of him too. Fuck. They were about the same age now, weren’t they? Peter was alive. And young. And here.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Peter growled, his eyes flashing golden in warning.
The words and the tingling sensation on his arm didn’t even register, because above all else, Stiles was looking into those golden eyes. “Your eyes are golden.”
He’d seen Peter with red eyes, with blue eyes, had theorized for so long with Peter that he could get his golden eyes back if he’d wanted to try. But Peter didn’t want to try. He wanted the physical reminder of his guilt over Laura, so Stiles had come to accept it. Maybe, Stiles had often wondered, Peter also refused to go through the process because he didn’t want to find his soulmate. Didn’t want to leave Stiles – regardless of how often Peter swore he wouldn’t, that Peter’s soulmate would have to love Stiles as much as Peter loved Stiles.
Stiles reached for his arm, the arm with his soul-mark, and rubbed at it, watching in confused alarm how the letters glowed silver because his words had just been spoken by his soulmate. Stiles’ gaze snapped up to Peter, whose eyes were wide as he looked at his own soul-mark, also glowing.
When Peter stepped up to him and touched him, Stiles jerked away. Remembering why he was here, specifically. He’d decided on an exact date to go back to. If he only had one shot, he’d do it right, he’d told himself. He could save the Hales, prevent Peter from ever burning, but if he went back even further, he could also save Derek’s soulmate.
“I’m here to help,” Stiles, looking at Peter – at his soulmate. “She’s rejecting the bite. I can help.”
“How,” Peter narrowed his eyes at him.
Stiles shuddered at that look. He’d missed it. Peter, scrutinizing something, trying to figure out the angle, figure out how it worked. He had never stopped looking at Stiles that way and had always said that it was one of the things he loved most about Stiles. That he could never fully figure him out, that Stiles would forever be a mystery that Peter would continue unraveling.
“Yellow wolfsbane,” Stiles got it out of his bag. “It cures bite-rejection. She has to eat it.”
“How did you know we’re here. How did you know what was happening. How do you have that.”
“Stop asking question!” Stiles fixed Peter with a glare while kneeling down next to Derek and Paige. “You have to eat this. It will help. I promise it’ll help.”
Gerard Argent had used it to cure himself. Stiles had stolen the flower from Chris, when he’d visited Scott and Allison. The hunter may be retired but he still had some tricks up his sleeve. Paige looked at him in confusion and Derek was still crying.
“It’s okay,” Stiles made his voice softer, more soothing. “I’m the protector of these lands. I’m here because the Nemeton, my Nemeton, the very tree you’re underneath of right now, has sent me to help. Let me help. Please, let me help.”
He spoke to the teenagers but was now looking at Peter. Pleading with his wolf, who didn’t even know Stiles yet. God. Fuck. He’d gotten too greedy. Was falling victim to his own hubris. He has playing God, had decided he could save everyone. And now here he was, in front of a Peter who didn’t know him at all. The love they’d built together, the bond they had worked so hard to forge and craft, it was gone. And it would never be the same again, because if Stiles actually did this, then Peter would never go through any of the trauma that had made him go feral, they would never share the things that they had shared in Stiles’ time. Soft fingers reached out for his arm, tracing not his soul-mark but the tattoo instead, curious, blue eyes reading the words.
“Stiles?” Peter said, looking up at Stiles with those same blue eyes.
“Y… Yeah,” Stiles croaked out. “That’s me. I’m Stiles.”
Huh. Wasn’t that a painful irony. The Peter who hadn’t been his soulmate had known him even before meeting him, had met him head on with that. You must be Stiles. And yet here he sat before his soulmate, who had no idea about him. Stiles swallowed hard, swallowed the bile rising in him.
“What does this mean?” Peter asked, still tracing the tattoo.
“It…” Stiles turned away from Peter’s too intense eyes, instead watched Derek cradle Paige as the flower started taking effect. “It was a promise. Between me and my husband.”
“Husband?” Peter physically reeled back at that, looking like he’d been shot in the heart.
Right. Because Stiles was this Peter’s soulmate. Because this Peter was already thirty one, had already spent three decades waiting for his soulmate. Peter had once told him that he’d only given up on finding his soulmate after the fire, after his eyes changed color. After he’d met Stiles.
Oh. Stiles huffed out the smallest laugh at the realization. Of course had Peter stopped waiting for his soulmate. Werewolves felt the bond much stronger than humans. Even if they never said each other’s words, they had been soulmates and Peter’s wolf must have felt it. There was no need to go searching for something that already was right in front of him.
“Late husband,” Stiles amended after a long moment, averting his eyes. “I spend a long time trying to find you and then I found him and then I… lost him.”
He blinked, tears clinging to his lashes. Gentle hands cupped his face and then Peter pulled him into a hug and even though they didn’t have the same history, it was still the same hug. All-consuming, the way Peter wrapped around him so protectively, like a security blanket. It was the safest feeling Stiles had ever known, to be in his wolf’s arms. And it was exactly that. Because even though Peter may be younger, may not know him yet, may not share the trauma that had bonded Peter and Stiles in the first place, this was still fundamentally Peter.
Stiles sobbed, a wrecked and broken sound, as he completely dissolved in his soulmate’s arms. Crying, truly crying for Peter for the first time. He’d spent months in denial, waiting for Peter to resurrect himself, then threw himself into his research to bring Peter back. He had… never mourned. He’d cried, often, but never like this. Like he was coming apart by the seams and there would be nothing left of him at the end of it. The only one with whom he had ever felt safe enough to cry like that was Peter – and Peter had been dead.
“Sh, sh, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” Peter whispered, in the exact same gentle tone he’d always used to soothe Stiles. “You’ll be okay. I’m sorry it took us so long to meet, but I’m here now and I’ll be here for you.”
And it was in that moment that Stiles realized he may have been right after all. Fate had meant for him to meet his soulmate after losing Peter so someone would be able to pick up the pieces. But fate really could have given him a heads up that it was Peter all along.
/break\
Today had been quite the roller-coaster of a day, in Peter’s opinion. He had made a very, very poor decision in pushing Derek into turning Paige into a werewolf. Perhaps it had been envy or worry or just his own poor judgment and lack of experience with soulmates, but she was human and not part of a pack and had no idea about the supernatural. If she were a wolf, she’d understand.
The bite didn’t take and she was dying and Peter knew he had fucked up big time. But like some gift from the heavens, his soulmate walked into the root cellar and brought with him the cure.
Of all the ways he had pictured meeting his soulmate over the years, this had never crossed his mind in any way or shape. What he had expected even less was for his soulmate to be a widower. Or to cry himself to sleep in Peter’s arms upon their first meeting.
“...I believe you lot have a lot of explaining to do.”
Peter froze in the doorway, carrying his sleeping soulmate. Derek had opened the door for them, one arm still possessively around Paige, who was carrying Stiles’ things. Talia stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking her most unimpressed. Wow. She could do a really good imitation of their father, Peter felt just like he had when he’d first sneaked Logan’s wolfsbane whiskey.
“Preaching later. Medical check now,” Aaron suggested as he pushed past their sister. “Is he injured? You aren’t exactly prone to carrying people around, much less strangers, Petey.”
“He’s not a stranger,” Peter said, his eyes landing on Stiles’ face. “He’s my soulmate.”
It got very, very quiet in the house. And then it got very, very loud. The statement drew out the wolves. Fiona was at Aaron’s side within seconds, peeking over her own soulmate’s shoulder to get a good look at Peter’s soulmate. Cora and Sloan stood wide-eyed before him, staring curiously. Laura came at a more moderate pace and she brought her father and grandmother with her.
“You finally found your soulmate?” Dalia smiled, so soft and loving, at Peter. “Oh, sweetie, I am so happy for you. Also, answer your brother’s damn question. Does he need medical attention?”
Peter sputtered at the hard turn of her words, suddenly growing sharp and worried. “He’s fine. He cried himself to sleep. He seems mostly exhausted. No injuries, even breathing.”
“...Cried himself to sleep?” Fiona narrowed her eyes at Peter. “Just how strong did you come onto him? I told you, you gotta learn to be less intense, Petey.”
“I keep telling him that too, love,” Aaron nodded and looked at his wife.
“I hate you both,” Peter muttered as he pushed past the couple.
He paused briefly in front of his Alpha, who had wanted answers. But Talia’s face had softened.
“Go, take care of your soulmate. Everything else has time until later,” Talia nodded and then cupped his cheek gently. “I’m happy for you, little brother. I knew they were out there.”
Peter swallowed thickly, all he was capable of doing was nod too. When Talia had met Damon, Peter had been overjoyed for his sister. It was fine, she was older than him, it figured that she would find her soulmate before him. But when their younger brother Aaron met Fiona, Peter felt a little more hopeless about it. Derek finding Paige had been like a dagger to the chest. How did his fifteen year old nephew find his soulmate but Peter, at thirty-one, was still painfully alone?
His grip on Stiles tightened. Not anymore. He had his soulmate now and he would treasure him. Clearly, the other was quite traumatized, after having lost his husband. So Peter would be patient and he would help Stiles heal. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for his soulmate and he didn’t even know Stiles yet. There was a child-like giddiness in Peter’s chest at that thought. There was so much he couldn’t wait to learn about his soulmate, he wanted to know everything.
“Hm… Peter…?” Stiles’ voice was rough from sleeping and crying.
He blinked confused when Peter put him down in Peter’s bed. “Sh, sleep some more, sweetheart. It’s alright, I got you. You’re safe.”
A small, soft smile spread over Stiles’ lips and Peter’s breath caught in his throat as he was struck by just how beautiful his soulmate was. The moles, full lips and near golden eyes, framed by long lashes. Stiles nuzzled into the pillow, closed his eyes and was out like a candle. Whatever had happened before Stiles got to the Nemeton, he clearly needed rest. Peter brushed Stiles’ hair out of his face and pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to his soulmate’s forehead.
/break\
Stiles woke up disoriented for the second time that day. But waking up in a bed he didn’t know in a bedroom he didn’t know did put him on high alert. He sat up sharply, narrowed eyes taking everything in and his hand automatically going to his wolfsbane laced dagger in his boot. He wasn’t wearing his boots. Frowning, he looked down himself, noting the soft sweat-pants and shirt he was wearing. Someone had changed him and tucked him into bed.
“Peter,” Stiles murmured softly, closing his eyes as memories flooded him.
Peter was dead. Stiles had time traveled. To a time when Peter was alive. They were soulmates. With a heavy sigh did he rub his face and sink down on the bed. Wow. That was a lot. He might need a week or a year to digest all of that. The door creaked open and he tensed.
“You called, sweetheart?” Peter asked concerned.
Sweetheart. Fuck. His wolf was already using the same fucking pet-names for him. Stiles ground his teeth together and swallowed hard. He rubbed his face, trying to feel more awake.
“Would you… like a shower?” Peter offered, seeming as lost as Stiles. “I have no idea what to do at this point, to be honest. Our first meeting wasn’t exactly how I pictured it.”
“No kidding,” Stiles snorted and shot him a look.
Peter chuckled and relaxed a little. “Well. I would like to get to know you better. But for now, I’d like to see you tended to. Something to drink or eat, a shower, to call your… family?”
“I have no family,” Stiles shook his head, his gaze dropping to his lap. “I have no one.”
“Well, that’s just not true anymore, then. As Peter’s soulmate, you’re now part of the Hale family.”
When Stiles looked up again, there was a woman in her sixties, with Peter’s dark hair and piercing blue eyes. She was wearing a gentle, purple tunic-style dress, her hands folded in front of her. There was a serene calmness radiating off of her. Stiles blinked at how surreal this was. Meeting Peter’s mother, who had been long since dead when Stiles and Peter first met.
Or, no. Not first, then. He was currently in the year 2003, predating 2011 by eight years. Technically, this had been their first meeting. Which was why the words had sparked the soulmate-bond. Stiles’ hand went to gently rub against his soul-mark, wondering how fate worked.
“I need to talk to Talia,” Stiles said, suddenly wide-eyed as he tried to get out. “I need to – We need to hurry! Fuck. Fuck, I wasted time by sleeping.”
“Easy, sweetheart,” Peter frowned concerned and grabbed his arm to help him.
“What’s going on?” Talia asked as she stepped into the bedroom.
Stiles swallowed hard. He’d heard a lot about Talia in the past years. Good and bad. He had seen pictures of her too. But being in her presence, he finally understood why werewolves revered her. Even human as he was, he could feel the Alpha’s power thrumming under her skin.
“You need to take Peter, Fiona and Laura to Deucalion. You need to help him. Actually, you should take Aaron and Dalia too, they may need medical attention. You need to stop Gerard Argent from killing his pack. He’s going to betray Deucalion. They’re going to die if you don’t help them.”
“...How do you know my pack’s names?” Peter asked with a frown.
“I’ll explain. I promise, I’ll explain everything,” Stiles reached out for Peter, holding onto the soul-mark on Peter’s arm. “Please trust me. Please, do what I said. Please.”
If the Visionary never became the Demon Wolf, then the Alpha Pack would never come to terrorize Beacon Hills. All of the innocent packs slaughtered in between… And the Darach would never be created either. So many lives saved with one crucial intervention. Peter searched his face for a moment and then nodded with a hard look, the resolve that showed he trusted Stiles. The same he always had. Stiles stared in awe after them as Peter urged his mother and sister along.
“Perhaps you could explain some things to me, while they’re gone.”
Stiles sighed and sat down heavily on the bed as Talia’s husband Damon entered the room. Derek’s father. He looked a lot like Derek too. The same eyes, the same sharp cheekbones. Damon frowned at him as he approached slowly and pulled a chair up to sit opposite him.
He contemplated lying for a moment, but then what was the point. How could he explain that he knew what he knew? And Peter being his fucking soulmate complicated things too.
So he sat there, with Derek’s father, and talked. And talked. And talked.
/break\
Peter’s soulmate was a time traveler. Those were heavy news to sit with. They also somewhat managed to override Peter’s little misjudgment about Paige. Especially since his darling soulmate had come back to save her and had succeeded in it.
(Peter would later freak out alone in the dark about the fact that if Stiles hadn’t come, his nephew would have been forced to kill his own soulmate, out of mercy. Because of Peter.)
“We need to talk about Malia,” Stiles said heavily, after hours of talking.
At this point, Peter didn’t even know what to expect anymore. He was overwhelmed with just how much his soulmate had already suffered and he was also mortified by the fact that he was the dead husband. That Stiles had literally turned back time to save Peter, first and foremost. A Peter he had loved and married, despite not even knowing that they were soulmates.
“What about her,” Talia’s eyes were cold and her body tensed.
Mh. Usually, when his Alpha reacted that way, Peter readied himself to take out a threat. Cocking one eyebrow, Peter turned to watch his soulmate highly intrigued. Stiles certainly was something else. Quite literally so, considering how rare Sparks were. And this particular Spark had chosen to give up his magic, all of his power, to save Peter – Peter, and their family.
“I never knew why,” Stiles held eye-contact with Talia. “I never understood why. Make it make sense. From everything everyone told me about you, you were some exemplar Alpha. Peter always spoke about you with love and adoration, though an edge of jealousy. But always with respect.”
Peter wondered if he would forever be damned to feel awkward about his soulmate speaking about a Peter that wasn’t him. A life that Peter had never lived, would never live. He reached out with one hand, running gentle fingers over Stiles’ soul-mark. It was an ironic one, wasn’t it.
You shouldn’t be here. Said by the wolf who had spent years wanting his soulmate with him.
You shouldn’t be here. Said to the Spark of Beacon County, underneath his own Nemeton.
You shouldn’t be here. Said to a time traveler who truly had no business being in this time.
“Peter asked me to,” Talia admitted after a very long silence. “It was his choice.”
“Bullshit!” Stiles spat, the self-righteous anger of someone defending their soulmate rolling off of him in waves. “Peter would have never chosen that!”
Talia averted her eyes, looking at her claws. “Why are you bringing her up?”
For a long moment, Stiles regarded her, like he was trying to avoid admitting it. “Her adopted family is going to die in less than a year. Corinne is coming back and she wants to finish the job. You really thought hiding Malia in Beacon Hills would work…?”
“...She’s in Beacon Hills?” Talia asked surprised. “I never… I asked not to know. It could only work if we didn’t know. She needed to be safe. That was why we did any of this to begin with.”
It was Stiles’ turn to avert his eyes now. “Yeah, well. That’s not gonna work. She’s going to lose the happy family she has right now and she will… spent years isolated, alone and guilt-ridden. If you want to protect her from that, you need to give Peter back his memories and you need to be there for Malia and you need to take Corinne the fuck out.”
“You think I didn’t try that?” Talia snorted and glared, both rarities for her. “We… I… I will tell you. Before I return Peter’s memories. You need… to be prepared for it, Peter.”
Her eyes were too soft when she looked at Peter. This wasn’t going to be good.
“You had a daughter, with Corinne,” Talia’s voice dropped to a whisper and Peter froze.
“Why the fuck would I have a daughter with the woman who killed aunt Laura?” Peter snarled.
Talia averted her eyes at that, guilt and pain all over her face. “Your daughter is why she killed aunt Laura. After… After the girl was born, Corinne noticed that she was less powerful, because the baby siphoned some of her power. She wanted to kill Malia, to get that power back. You, me, and aunt Laura, we… we were trying to fight her but even the three of us were no match for her and she… We managed to protect Malia that day, but she killed aunt Laura.”
Peter wasn’t sure what to say to that. He tried to remember but the harder he thought about the day Laura had been killed, the more fuzzy things got. Talia had always told him that was because he had been heavily injured too – which, he had been, he’d woken up bandaged in their mother’s office.
“I… I had a daughter,” Peter looked at his sister with confusion. “And she is why…”
“Laura died to protect her,” Talia nodded solemnly. “You… The both us agreed afterward that Malia wouldn’t be safe with us and that her being here would not just endanger her but the entire pack. I was… I was pregnant with Cora at the time… You… We decided to give Malia up for adoption, to find her a safe home so Corinne wouldn’t find her, so all of us would be safe. But… the pain, the guilt for giving her up, for being unable to protect her and… you felt responsible for Laura’s death… I took your memories of Malia, to allow you to move on. We thought that was the best course, the safest too because if you knew absolutely nothing, you couldn’t be used to get to her.”
“Give them back,” Peter demanded, with a desperate edge.
Talia unsheathed her claws and approached Peter. A soft hand slipped into his, interlacing their fingers and giving him a reassuring squeeze. Peter looked over at his soulmate, at the devastation and love on Stiles’ face, before Talia sank her claws into Peter’s neck.
/break\
Stiles hadn’t known about Laura. Well, in theory he had known about aunt Laura, former Left Hand of the Hale Pack. But he hadn’t known her death had been related to Malia. It did put things into perspective. He could even see that his wolf would rather cut out his memories of a daughter he thought he was keeping safe but would thus never get to see or hold again. Maybe even to cut out the temptation to seek her out, because he knew that would have put her in danger.
Conversations with the Tates went… interesting. As Peter’s soulmate, Stiles got to come with Talia and Peter for those. They told Henry and Evelyn about werewolves, about Corinne, about why they had given Malia up for adoption in the first place – and why they were reaching out now.
It had been hard to pry his wolf out of that house again without seeing Malia, but both Stiles and Talia understood that the Tates needed time to digest all of that and that, to them, the werewolves in the room looked like the danger in that moment. That they weren’t just going to introduce their daughter who didn’t even know she was adopted to her biological father without that.
“They need time,” Stiles whispered as he pulled Peter into his arms.
It was late, dark outside already, but Peter was laying awake. It was probably weird that Stiles was here, in the other man’s bedroom. They’d only met yesterday, for crying out loud. But Peter needed him and Stiles would always, always be there for his wolf. Peter buried his face in Stiles’ chest and clung onto him like a lifeline. Like Peter used to. Stiles closed his eyes tightly.
/break\
Stiles took about a week to adjust to the reality of 2003, and being in the Hale House, before he got to work. Mostly, he was there for Peter, in that time. But also Derek. After having saved Paige’s life, the kid – Derek Hale was a kid, Stiles was more than twice his age – kind of latched onto Stiles. Stiles somewhat got to know the other members of the Hale family. People he had ever only heard about, from Peter, Derek and Cora. People he never anticipated to meet.
“Hello, daddio,” Stiles smiled and it was unfathomably sad.
“...Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”
His father was so young. And so alive. Stiles blinked away tears as he resisted the urge to go and hug Noah. He hadn’t seen his dad in years. He should have thought to turn back time for his father already. He was a horrible son, that he had only thought of this for his husband, wasn’t he?
No. No, that wasn’t it. It wasn’t that losing Noah had hurt less. It was that, when he had lost Noah, he still had Peter. Peter had kept him together, had helped him survive that monumental loss. Peter had made sure he ate, slept, functioned, until he was ready to do these things on his own. But when he lost Peter, there was nobody to bear the brunt force of it. The others tried, but they didn’t know him the same as Peter had, they believed his lies that he was better. Peter would have seen through it, would have steered him toward a healthier coping mechanism than time travel. But Peter wasn’t there and that had been the entire crux of the problem, hadn’t it?
“I’m your son. I’m your son at thirty-four,” Stiles paused because damn, he’d gotten old, as a teenager he never thought they’d get to see their thirties. “I’m also a time-traveler. I know. I know it sounds crazy, I know time travel was always your hard limit. Werewolves, magic, fine, but time travel? That was asking too much of you. I forced you through too many scifi franchises for that.”
He smiled, and it was a painful smile and he couldn’t help the tears springing to his eyes as he looked at his dad. His dad he hadn’t gotten to hug in so long. He sobbed, just a little.
“Please, believe me,” Stiles practically begged. “I can prove to you that werewolves and magic are real. And I… I’m me. Look at me. Look into my eyes and see mom’s eyes. Look at my moles, count them, they’re the same. I’m Stiles. Mischief. Mietek.”
That last one really got Noah though. Mischief was the nickname Claudia had given to Stiles because of how Stiles tended to mispronounce his first name. But Mietek was what Claudia and Noah used to call him before he called himself Stiles, the nickname they gave their baby. Noah looked at him, long and hard, stared into his eyes like he was trying to discover the lie.
“I’ll need more than that,” Noah sighed and sat down, which was a good sign.
“Magic. I used magic to turn back time,” Stiles said. “Or, to send myself back, I guess. I’m here… I came here to save the people I love. But now I’m… something happened. Something I didn’t anticipate. I found my soulmate. I spent thirty four years without finding him and then I go to the past and we say each other’s words. Because that was the day, the moment, we were always meant to meet. That… That’s why I’m here. To see you but also… for your son, the one from this time.”
Stiles got out a notebook. He’d spent the past week writing everything down. The ritual, what Stiles would need to perform it, the precise date and location he needed to go to and what he needed to bring with him. Stiles pushed the notebook toward Noah.
“This is for your son,” Stiles whispered. “For when he’s ready to meet his soulmate. Instructions on how to perform the spell, where he needs to go, who he needs to save and how. He’s not ready yet, because he’s a kid but also because he doesn’t have access to his magic yet. I wrote contact information of a Spark in London down. It’s… I know it’s a long way from home, but she will be so excited to meet another Spark, she will mentor him, she will be able to teach him how to hone his skills. Contact her, as soon as Stiles manifests his magic.”
“You’re… asking me to believe a lot there,” Noah pointed out, but his hand was on the book.
“You’re my dad,” Stiles smiled, sad and soft. “You will always do everything to ensure your son’s safety and happiness. If there is even the fraction of a possibility that this book contains the information he’ll need to meet his soulmate, you’ll make sure he gets it. I don’t… I don’t expect you to take my words at face value. It’s okay. There is still a lot of time before Stiles’ magic will manifest and you have that time to come to terms with it. When you’re ready, come to the Hale House. Talia, Dalia and I will be able to prove and explain everything to you.”
Stiles got up, and so did Noah. Before he left though, Stiles hesitated.
“Can… I have a hug before I leave?” Stiles asked, voice small. “I know it’s… weird. I know you don’t really know me and don’t have a reason to trust or believe me, so hugging me is weird, but it’s been so long since I hugged you and I missed you so much, dad.”
He choked on a sob at the admission, the tears finally spilling over. And then there were strong arms around him and he was surrounded by that scent of gun-powder, aftershave and dad. And he broke down fully. He clung onto his dad and cried and cried while Noah held him.
“I missed you so much, dad,” Stiles sobbed out.
“I don’t… know if I can believe what’s going on here, but you…” Noah trailed off for a moment. “You do remind me of Stiles, and of Claudia. You… also look an awful lot like Stan.”
Stiles blinked at that. He hadn’t considered that yet, but… Yeah, he hadn’t shaved in a while – too busy creating timeline altering magic. And with the beard, he really did look like uncle Stan, like Claudia’s brother, especially since both Gajos siblings had the same eyes, the same as Stiles.
“I need time, kid,” Noah requested, patting Stiles on the back. “I’ll come to you. I want that explanation. That proof you have. But give me some time to digest that.”
Stiles nodded carefully as he extracted himself from the hug. “Thank you.”
/break\
Stiles was sitting out in Dalia’s garden, enjoying the sun on his face. He was breathing slow and deep, his gaze on his pack before him. Derek and Paige were sitting on the swing under the tree, being disgustingly cute together as they giggled, whispered and kissed. Cora, Malia, Sloan and Stiles were chasing each other, playing together. Stiles’ heart felt warm at that.
The Tates had come around, they’d always planned on telling Malia, had always been open to helping her reconnect with her birth family if that was possible. It had been tearful and Malia had been confused at first, but she was getting to know her birth father, and his family. She particularly loved her cousins and the three girls quickly became inseparable.
Stiles, kiddo Stiles, just kind of folded in with them, after Noah got his proof. Stiles, the older version, became Stiliyan Gajos, Claudia’s cousin who had moved to Beacon Hills to help the Stilinskis out after Claudia’s death and who had unexpectedly found his soulmate in Peter Hale upon arrival. Stiles… Stiles got his dad back, got to be a part of his family again. He got to be the cool uncle to himself, would help mentor younger Stiles in his magic, even if Stiles had none of his own. Dalia was also stepping up, as a Druid and the Emissary of the Hale Pack, she was invested in nurturing their land’s Spark. She was also quite interested in Stiles’ dad.
“There you are, love,” Peter came to sit next to him. “Are you alright?”
Stiles hummed and leaned into his wolf. The hardest part was adjusting to Peter. Because he was both the same and a wholly different person than Stiles’ Peter had been. They did and said the same things, behaved the same in so many ways, and it was just as easy to love this Peter as it had been to love the jaded, broken, traumatized version that Stiles had first met. But the differences still hurt. That this Peter couldn’t comfort him about the nightmares about the Nogitsune or the Wild Hunt the same because he hadn’t been there, hadn’t been the one to pull Stiles back and save him.
Stiles had to compartmentalize that there was Peter, his first husband, and Peter, his soulmate. And he loved them both with his whole heart, in the same and in different ways. He was grateful to get this second chance and he was also grateful to have this pack, this family.
“I love you, Peter,” Stiles whispered as he nuzzled into Peter’s neck.
“I love you too, sweetheart,” Peter smiled and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ temple.
“Urgh. Stop being disgusting,” Laura complained as she walked up to them. “Dad says dinner is ready soon and he thinks you should save Noah from Dalia.”
“Nah,” Stiles grinned mischievously. “Dad will be fine.”
“I think you overestimate your father, darling,” Peter said dryly. “My mother can be dangerous when she has set her eyes on something. And the poor, vulnerable widower seems to be a prime target for her. I would prefer if we didn’t become step-siblings, love.”
Stiles burst out laughing at that comment. “Okay, actually, fair point.”
But mostly, Stiles was glad that his dad had someone who understood it now. Dalia had buried her own husband and soulmate years ago. Peter’s father Logan. Noah was still drowning in his grief. Stiles and the Hale Pack were stepping up and helping him, had eased him off the bottle and got him into AA meetings, but Stiles knew that talking to someone who understood the grief of burying one’s soulmate really helped.
“Children,” Peter called out. “Dinner is ready soon, so go and wash up.”
Cora and Sloan ran straight past their uncle, but Malia paused in front of Peter and hugged him. “Kay, pa. Can we get ice-cream when we pick up Kylie from Alicia’s?”
“Of course, sweetie,” Peter smiled warmly and caressed Malia’s hair.
Kylie, Malia’s younger sister, was friends with Alicia Boyd. Stiles was going to keep a close eye on the girls, would make sure Alicia wouldn’t meet the same fate as she had in his time. Maybe he would also steer Boyd into befriending young Stiles and the Hale girls. Who knew. The future was wide open and it was Stiles’ to direct. Next up, he was planning a trip to visit Kate Argent first though. Gerard was already dead, had met his end at Peter and Fiona’s claws to save Deucalion, and Kate was the next obstacle to tackle to keep Stiles’ family safe.
“You up for a trip, Pretty Wolf?” Stiles whispered into Peter’s ear. “Get away for a week or so? Just the two of us? No kids, no nosy wolves?”
Peter smiled when he saw the look in Stiles’ eyes. “I’d go to the end of the world with you, dear.”
~*~ The End ~*~