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Peter is on his yearly trek home back from college, three days after finals, when he meets Stiles. He’s short a few good nights of sleep and still a little high on that wolfsbane concoction his roommate mixed in their celebratory drinks, which is why he thinks the young man stumbling from the bushes and onto the road is a hallucination his deprived brain conjured up for him, even as he hits the brakes with a curse.
In his defense, the guy was looking like one of his jerk off fantasies come true: Only clothed in tight jeans he gave Peter a niece view of his long, lean chest. A tattoo covered his entire left arm and part of his ribcage, and the only thing subtracting from the fantasy was the blood that coated half his face.
„What the -“
Having seen Peter's car stopping, the guy jogged up to his car with a smile on his face.
“Hey,“ he said with a sheepish twist to his mouth as soon as Peter opened the car window. “Could you maybe take me with you to the nearest town? I got mugged and my car stolen.“ He waves his hand around to encompass the head wound and his naked torso.
If Peter didn’t hear his heartbeat blip, he would have believed him a bit easier. As it was, he was a bit more wary of the strangers intention. But, he reasoned as he looked him up and down slowly, Peter was a werewolf and could easily stop him if he tried anything funny. The guy could be an axe murderer for all he cared, if he looked like this.
“Alright, hop in,“ he said and opened the passenger door. “Just make sure you don't get any blood on the upholstery.“ His sister would give him serious side eyes if he came back with a bloodied car again. He searched the glove compartment for a short moment until he found a fresh handkerchief that he handed over.
“Sweet.“ The guy thanked him and begun to clean up the blood, while Peter started his car again. “I'm Stiles. Thank you, I was totally not looking forward to walk the entire way. Actually, where are we? No idea where I got dumped…“
Peter snorted. Curiously Stiles was not lying while he babbled.
“Peter Hale,“ he introduced himself, “and we are a few miles from Beacon Hills.“
Stiles yelped and did a double take. “What?!? No way. No. Nope.“ He'd gone pale, but at Peters curious glance seemed to gather himself. “Wow,“ he said in a obviously fake tone of voice, “that's a long way from home. They really got me good, ha, ha, ha.“
Peter raised his eyebrows. Stiles heart rate had just doubled and the acrid stench of stress was trying to overpower the iron tang of the drying blood.
“Everything alright?“ he asked, trying to find out why his words made him react this strongly.
“Just thinking about how much of a pain going home is going to be,“ Stiles said faintly. Peter was sceptic about that, but the only thing he said was, “I can only imagine. Where did you say you came from?“
The conversation died then somewhat, as Stiles was clearly occupied by his thoughts. His answers were short and vague, nothing like his earlier cheerful babble, and any awkward silence was ignored with a nervous drum of his long fingers against his thigh. Which Peter tried to ignore, because those fingers . He was still driving after all.
After five minutes of painful one sided small talk, Peter admitted defeat. The rest of the car drive into town was spent in silence, underlined by the smell of Stiles stress and blood. Stiles appeared to be a mystery wrapped in a very appealing exterior.
Some time later, when the first houses belonging to Beacon Hills appeared on the side of the road, Peter broke the silence.
“I should probably drive you to the police station, right?“ He asked while they were waiting at a busy intersection.
“What? Oh right, yes, yeah, sure. The station would be… great.“ Stiles was fidgeting again, scrunching the edges of the used handkerchief.
Peter only hummed and steered the car down the right line to the station.
***
Well, fuck, thought Stiles, standing in front of a building he hadn’t set foot in for five years, watching the guy he had helped set on fire almost ten years ago drive off. As you do, when you’ve accidentally landed 25 years in the freaking past.
What was he supposed to do now? He ruffled his hair, trying to think of anything, when he heard a painfully familiar voice that made him jump.
“You alright, son?”
It was crazy, Stiles thought as he turned around to face that voice, how calm he felt. And there stood his father, almost unrecognizable with how young he looked. Young and open, the only lines in his face from laughing.
“Yeah,” he said slowly, his thoughts racing. He had read enough fiction to know that you probably shouldn't mess with anything. But at the same time, even Harry Potter had showed that the timeline had a way to fix itself. So either he was exactly where he was supposed to be and everything he did had already happened in his original time, or he was in an completely different realm and something was bound to differ this timeline anyway. Either way, he was free to do whatever he wanted.
And as he looked at his dad, thinking about everything that was going to happen that would put the well worn worry lines in his face (that he would put there), things he could prevent… If he thought about his empty apartment, or the phone that hadn't pinged with the Beacon Hill's area code in a long time… There wasn't a lot he would leave behind.
“Son?“
“Sorry,“ Stiles said, “I think I got mugged on the highway. And I possibly lost my ID, though I have no idea. To be honest I have no idea about a lot of things right now. Where am I?“
***
Peter had already forgotten, how dreadfully boring Beacon Hills was. He was glad for the respite from his teachers and from learning, but he always underestimated how bad it really was. He mostly stayed out of his mother’s way and Talia only bothered him when she needed him for something. The kids were tolerable, but Peter could only stomach so much juvenile behavior before he craved real, actual, adult interaction.
Probably the most exciting thing to have happened had been Stiles, but even that didn't hold his attention the longer he didn't hear about him.
Two weeks in this boring small town and he'd already read all his books, ransacked the library’s bookshelves for anything new (horrifyingly few additions. He was gone for half a year and there were only two new books. Two!), and had annoyed Derek at school enough times to be the gossip fodder for the next two years.
He was just lazing around on the porch, rereading some of his computer magazines and contemplating if it was worth his mother's wrath if he went through her private book collection for something, anything , more interesting, when his sister came home. She had Cora in her car seat in one hand seat, groceries on the other.
“Hey Peter, remember that guy you told us about? The hitchhiker?“ She asked as she bustled through the front door.
“I guess,“ Peter said, wary. He had told them about Stiles, and how strange his reactions were, but Talia had just shrugged. His mother had asked about his smell and scoffed when he told her that he’d just smelled like human and blood at that point in time. ‘Obviously it's nothing we need to bother with, if he's human’, she told him and then she'd asked him how his law studies were going. Peter didn't say much after that.
Talia was still talking while unpacking the groceries, loud enough for his enhanced hearing to pick up. “Well, I was talking to Barritch at the grocery store, and he told me that the boy is working at the diner now. Did you know that he lost his memory?“
“Oh?“ Peter asked, curiosity peaked.
“Yes, the muggers took everything that might ID him and it seems the hit to his head caused major memory loss. He’s staying with one of the other deputies until he’s all sorted out.”
“Memory loss, huh?” Peter asked slowly.
***
It didn't take long for him to find Stiles. It seemed like nobody could stop talking about him, as he was the most exciting thing that happened since the old bank closed down because of the robberies.
He took a moment to observe him. It was slow in the diner right now, and he seemed to have taken over a table for his break. There were papers strewn about the entire surface and Stiles was scribbling furiously down in a worn looking notebook, while absently chewing on a sandwich. There was a highlighter propped behind his ear.
Peter shouldn't find him as attractive as he did. But now that he wasn't completely distracted by too much skin and ink, he could appreciate the cute upturn of his nose, the way moles dotted his skin. He didn't know what it was about Stiles, but he had this feeling he was important, somehow. Maybe it was the sharp way his eyes had assessed him in the car that made his wolf sit up and pay attention, the way they had promised knowledge.
The way they were staring back at him now.
Well, nothing for it then, but for him to saunter in and slip gracefully down in the seat next to Stiles.
“Didn’t think you would stay in a town like Beacon Hills.” Peter greeted him. He tried to get a glimpse of whatever the other had been writing down, but the notebook was closed now. Pity. The rest of the papers were newspaper clippings from various papers, as far as Peter could see.
Stiles raised his eyebrows. “It’s better than somewhere else, I guess. But I’m sure you already heard all about that.”
Peter smirked. “Yes, but they’re also talking about memory loss. You didn’t strike me as someone who realized he didn’t remember anything when I picked you up.”
“You know a lot of people who lost their memories then?“ Stiles asked, a challenging glint in his eyes as he leaned back, all casual grace. And it did things to Peter's self control, seeing him bare his neck like that. It made his gums itch with the need to bite and he had to dig his fingers into the denim of his jeans, because the urge to just reach over was too strong.
Stiles smiled.
The moment was broken when one of the other workers called Stiles. An annoyed look flittered over his face, there and gone again.
“Sorry to cut this short.” He stood and begun gathering his belongings.
Peter quickly stood and helped him. “Oh don’t worry,” he said as he held out a stack of papers to put away in his backpack, “I doubt this will be the last you see of me.”
Stiles snorted and opened his mouth. Before he could say anything his coworker called again.
Quickly, Peter used the moment to head for the door. He didn’t get very far, a hand on his arm stopped him
“I think you forgot something,” Stiles said, amusement colouring his voice. With a scowl, Peter handed the notebook he had stealthily grabbed over.
Well, he would just have to get his informations elsewhere.
***
Elsewhere, in this case, meant he was stealthily following Stiles through the woods four hours later. Or had tried to, at least.
“This isn’t how I imagined this going,” Peter panted, out of breath despite his supernatural stamina as he clung to the branches of the tree had climbed in his haste to get away from the slobbering beast on the ground.
“Well, I would have been fine if someone didn’t think to trip into a den full of of Ahuizotl!”
So that's what the spiky dog-things were. Peter made a mental note to research that later.
“I wouldn’t have followed you if you weren’t being all mysterious. What were you even doing there?”
A short silence, then a huff.
“Gathering ingredients.”
“Ingredients?”
“For research. Potions and stuff.”
“You know potions?”
“A bit. I’m mostly self taught.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you a regular chatterbox. My nephew is easier to get information out of, and he’s just beginning the antisocial teen phase.”
Another silence as they sat in the tree, waiting for the enraged Ahuizotl to lose interest and disappear. After the creature had proven that Peter was too slow with his claws and Stiles’ magic only enraged it further, they had deemed it wise to retreat out of its range and ended up in the tree they were currently sitting in.
And hadn’t the magic been a surprise. Up until this evening Stiles had seemed pretty mundane to him, not off his rocker like the warlock up in Berkeley, who wanted the equivalent of Peter’s firstborn in exchange for a third rate Bestiary copy. Maybe, he thought longingly, Stiles had books he would let Peter look at.
“Well, I guess you aren’t going to give up either way, so I might as well tell you. There was an accident that brought me here the day you found me,” Stiles began. He sounded somber and for a moment Peter wished the tree trunk was a bit smaller so he could look at Stiles as he talked.
The gist of it, as Peter gathered, was that Stiles best friend got bitten by an feral alpha. They put the alpha down and his friend became the alpha, but some people took exception to that because they were so young, and tried to take the alpha power. Shit went down, there had been Darachs and Demons and all kind of supernatural monsters, but at the end of the day things had calmed down by the time Stiles went to college.
Everyone moved on, it seemed, except for Stiles, who had liked the research and the magic and this completely new hidden world. He went through the motions at college and passed his courses with average grades. Contact with the pack had petered out, everyone busy with their own lives that had no use of Stiles knowledge anymore.
So he did his own thing - working whatever day job that wasn’t too arduous and helping out in the supernatural community when possible. The accident, as Stiles called it, was a botched summoning ritual that was supposed to help with the search of a stolen Selkie pelt. And once he’d been in Beacon Hills, he had thought why not? Turn over a new leaf, see how it turns out. Open up a real bookshop maybe, who knows.
Peter had a feeling that Stiles left out a few details; Most glaringly the where and when to any question, but he had shared a lot more than Peter could have hoped for, and so he left it alone for now.
What he did, instead, was tell Stiles about himself.
“ My mother insists that I become a lawyer like my father. I’m taking the courses, but I doubt I will do anything with my degree, if I will even finish. It’s dreadfully boring. I’d rather do something with computers. Or just anything else. But she’s the alpha and what she says goes, so I’ll have to hang on until Talia inherits her power or I’ll find another pack that takes me in.” He let out a breath.
This wasn’t something that he shared a lot, and it was funny how hard it is to get the words out. But ever since his father’s death, his mother had become an oppressive force in his life that was slowly sucking joy out of every crevice of his life.
“I’m supposed to be Talia’s left hand. But mother doesn’t like me doing anything that entails.”
Stiles makes an interested noise at that, prompting him to elaborate. “The alpha is the head of the pack, they’re shouldering the responsibilities, the final decisions. The right hand is their mate, the confidant. The left hand is their link to the emissary, delegating the tasks and bringing important tasks to the attention of the alpha.”
“I didn’t know that. I just thought the alpha did their thing and the betas have to do what they’re told.”
“Yes, that’s what happens if these roles aren’t filled properly. My father and his brother, my mother’s hands, got killed. They almost took her and the rest of the pack with them too. She’s been paranoid since then, doesn’t let me do anything.”
“Sucks,” Stiles said. Not very eloquent, Peter thought, but somehow enough.
“Hey, I think the Ahuizotl is gone. Wanna get out of here?”
Peter looked down and indeed, the thing was gone. They got down from the uncomfortable branches of their tree. On his way down he thought it might get awkward - they both talked about some heavy things - but in the end it wasn’t uncomfortable at all.
They didn’t talk much on their way back. It was companionable, the silence. Sometimes their shoulders brushed, and Peter caught himself wishing he could take Stiles’ hand in his.
He didn’t have much in the way of teenage romance, has always made fun of the way his niece crushed on boys and the only relationship he’s had in college were of the one-night-stand variety. Walking through the forest like this was nice though. He liked it. It didn’t hurt that Stiles was good looking and had magic, and that Peter wanted to ask him all kind of questions.
But that just made it more exciting.
***
In the end, everything turned out pretty okay, Stiles thought.
It takes a bit more time for everything to come together, but he’s not surprised when Peter kisses him one day.
He’s thought about it himself, kissing Peter. The way the wolf had looked at him sometimes, he’s more surprised that they hadn’t done this earlier. But this was great, too. He likes the way Peter get’s him, even though Stiles didn’t tell him everything. (He knows that Peter suspects, sometimes. But Peter understands that they are things they don’t talk about, just like Stiles does.)
It’s a strike of luck when he gets wind of Kate and Gerard Argent being in town before anyone else - it makes deposing of them easy. Even easier than taking down the Nogitsune, bound as it still is.
The most challenging thing, maybe, is the Nemeton. It is old and stubborn, still standing proud. Talia and Deaton probably cut it down somewhere in the future. Without the Nogitsune poisoning the roots though, he can begin to cleanse the earth around it and hopefully prevent it from becoming the supernatural homing beacon it was in his time.
It’s exhausting work sometimes, juggling his job, questioning his future, if he’s doing the right thing. But moments like this make it all worthwhile; Lying in bed, legs entwined with Peter’s. Just enjoying the closeness as he kisses his way up the wolfs neck, the way Peter’s eyelashes flutter as he wakes up slowly.
“You are thinking too loud,” Peter rumbles and winds his arms firmer around Stiles middle, one hand stealthily wandering lower.
“Just thinking about how glad I am that I’m here,” Stiles murmures against his lips before he kisses him.