#Character: Gerard Argent | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

takaraphoenix · 25 days

Text

Home at the Hale Farm

Tags: m/m/m, polyamory, post-Nogitsune, PTSD, Stiles leaves Beacon Hills, Spark Stiles, fluff, hurt/comfort, Erica Lives, Boyd Lives, Allison Lives, Pack Alpha Peter, m/f, f/f

Main Pairing: Peter/Chris/Stiles

Side Pairings: Boyd/Erica, Jackson/Lydia, Malia/Kira

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski | Stiliyan 'Stiles' Gajos, Peter Hale, Chris Argent, Derek Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd III, Isaac Lahey, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Allison Argent, Malia Tate, Kira Yukimura, Cora Hale, Noah Stilinski | John Gajos

@writersmonth Prompts: fur + farm

Summary: Theo is the last straw for Stiles, Scott believing Theo over Stiles. Not knowing how else to get out of Beacon Hills, him and his dad fake their own deaths. And it's the right choice, they're finally free and out of that hell-town. Stiles only has one regret, that he doesn't know where the Hale Pack lives and never had the chance to let them know that he's still alive. Until him and his dad move to London.

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Home at the Hale Farm

Stiles Summer Stories 2024

If asked when everything had started to go to shit, Stiles would probably pinpoint the Gerard Argent take-down as that moment. The very first time Scott had gone against Stiles, acted without even consulting Stiles. The first real crack in their friendship. Sure, they had drifted apart more and more since Scott had gotten together with Allison and prioritized his relationship over his friendship, but that? That betrayal had caused a rift between them. One that Stiles spent months trying to ignore, trying to mend, before it frayed more and more.

Additionally, that had been the last day Stiles had been a part of the Hale Pack. With Scott's betrayal, Derek turned his back on them. And Stiles didn't hold that against the then Alpha. But if that hadn't happened? If Scott and Stiles had stayed in the Hale Pack, maybe everything else wouldn't have happened. Maybe if Scott had been a proper beta, he would have never risen to being a True Alpha and then all of this wouldn't have happened and Stiles would still be happy with the Hale Pack, with Boyd and Erica, with whom he had forged a bond in that basement, with Isaac, who was just a big puppy, with Peter, who was—Stiles shook his head, trying not to think of Peter.

Scott became a True Alpha and, always the loyal best friend, Stiles became part of his pack. Derek gave up his Alpha spark to save his sister's life and the Hale Pack seemed to fall apart. Isaac, who had been drawn closer to Scott for months now, easily joined Scott's pack, together with Stiles and Lydia. The McCall Pack formed. But the Hale Pack wasn't done yet.

Peter Hale had too much ambition and he had lost too much in the past to give up the Hale Pack, to let it die fully. No, with so many spare Alphas running around, he had an easy time killing one to regain the Alpha spark for himself. This time, more sane and without killing a family member, the red eyes suited him much better, in Stiles' opinion.

But now there were two packs in Beacon Hills. Two Alphas with as much history as Peter and Scott? That was bound to blow up in all their faces. Tension rose, more and more. The two packs edged on and Stiles could see this escalating if someone didn't give. Peter gave.

"We're going to leave Beacon Hills, Stiles," Peter had told him back then, voice hard.

He'd stood with his arms crossed in Derek's loft. Derek, Cora, Boyd and Erica behind him, all avoiding Stiles' gaze. Looking like guilty puppies. It had made Stiles' heart clench so all he could do was nod at the Alpha, at the pack – the pack he once belonged to.

"I think it'll do you good," Stiles had offered softly. "There's so much trauma in this town. It's tried to kill every single one of you in the past. Heck, it did kill you, Peter. I hope… you'll be happy."

Peter had looked at him with an unreadable expression. "We're going-"

"Don't tell me," Stiles had requested, shaking his head. "You want to get out of here, get a new start. You don't want anyone in Beacon Hills know where you are. And I don't want to be the one to drag you back here. You gotta… leave it all behind."

"We don't want to leave you behind," Erica had looked at him with tears in her eyes.

"I'll come back for you, sweetheart," Peter had rested a hand on his cheek. "Day of your graduation, I am coming back and I will ask you to make the choice that I can't ask of you right now. But I trust Scott to fuck up badly enough to make this choice easy for you."

Stiles wondered if Peter had really known just how true his words would turn out to be, or if he'd just been a prick with a complex back then. Either way, Stiles had agreed to that and he had hugged them all. It had hurt, seeing them leave, but he knew it was the right decision for them and that was all Stiles wanted. For them to be happy, to not be dragged down by this damn town.

The McCall Pack gained two new pack-members, in the supposedly reformed former Alpha twins. That was when the crack in Scott and Stiles' relationship grew more, because he'd vetoed that. They had helped capture Cora, Boyd and Erica, had helped nearly kill them, but Scott was giving them a second chance? Not just by letting them go, but by offering them a place in their pack?

Next up, Malia Tate and Kira Yukimura joined the pack, as Stiles' life started falling apart. He got possessed by the Nogitsune, it used him to kill people, so many people. He'd killed Aiden and – and he killed Allison, even if nobody knew, because he'd poured all of his magic, all of his Spark, into saving her life as she bled out in his arms. She had still been gravely injured, had spent weeks in the hospital to recover, but she was alive and that was all that mattered. Or so Stiles thought.

It was the final straw for Chris to leave, as soon as Allison was discharged from the hospital. He'd only stayed after the rest of his family had died, one by one, because Allison insisted. This? This had been too close a call, Chris was done (Chris had no idea just how close and if Stiles had any say in it, Chris would never know that Stiles had actually killed his daughter). Stiles understood it. This town had taken so damn much from Chris. And Stiles was sure neither Chris nor Allison wanted to look at the boy who'd 'nearly' killed Allison. Stiles couldn't even look at himself, after all. Isaac left with them, left with his girlfriend and the man who'd been looking over him.

The last member of the Hale Pack left Beacon Hills and Stiles felt something inside him break.

If he'd known that this was just the beginning of the end? Maybe he would have packed up and left too. Not with them, he understood that the Argents would never want to have anything to do with him. If Stiles thought the possession was bad, the aftermath of it was even worse.

He couldn't sleep, ate less than he used to, pulled away from the pack, because the pack – Scott – pulled away from him. Couldn't even look at Stiles anymore. Asked Stiles' opinion less and less.

And then Gerard fucking Argent had returned. Which, brought him back to the beginning. The Gerard take-down was when things started coming apart, because Scott's stupid plan had left the man alive and nobody tracked him down to kill him, so of course had the vengeance obsessed bastard come up with a revenge plan. A deadpool on all the supernatural of Beacon Hills.

Stiles and Scott had fought about it, a lot, until Stiles started giving in, because he was so tired. He didn't sleep enough. He didn't get enough physical comfort. His dad was trying. Malia was… Malia was being a really good friend, was trying too, she understood physical needs, understood pack in a way that Scott never would, that Scott refused to learn. But Malia was also still struggling with being human and she had her new, shiny relationship with Kira, so she couldn't be there for Stiles 24/7 either. Lydia was trying, but whenever Stiles looked at her, he flinched away in guilt. He'd heard her Banshee scream for Allison the night Stiles had killed Lydia's best friend.

Theo was Stiles' breaking point. Theo, who waltzed into their pack and became Scott's right-hand just like that, had the Alpha's ear and trust and so easily filled a role that Stiles had always thought was his. The worst part was that Stiles knew Theo was up to no good. Was planning something. Theo knew Stiles knew, he kept taunting Stiles about it.

And then Donovan had happened, Stiles had killed him and Theo twisted Scott into accusing Stiles of murder. They didn't kill in Scott's pack. He didn't tolerate a killer in his pack. And Stiles, he knew it was about more than Donovan. It was about the people Stiles had killed. It was about their argument in regards to Gerard Argent and how they should have killed him.

"Kiddo," his dad had looked at him with broken eyes when Stiles had broken down in front of him that night. "Tell me what you need, tell me what I can do to fix this, please."

For months, he had watched his son fall apart, bits and pieces being chipped off Stiles. The possession had broken him, truly broken him, and Stiles was fighting every day to survive, but now he was losing what little stability he had – the pack.

"I need to get out of here, I'm drowning, dad," Stiles had sobbed into his father's shoulder, clinging onto him. "I'm treading water and I can't keep going, I can't, I'm going to drown if I don't get out. And I know he's not going to let me out, he won't, he'll kill you, he threatened you, I can't-"

His father's eyes had hardened. Determination. He'd lost his wife in this damn town, he wasn't going to watch his son die before his eyes. Not if there was anything he could do to help.

Two days later, the Stilinskis died in a tragic car accident.

Stiles' pack bonds had already been severed by Scott so there was nothing to worry about. If Scott didn't want to believe him that Theo was a threat? Fine, then. He could get himself killed. Stiles no longer cared. All he cared about was his dad, his dad's safety. Theo had made the wrong move threatening his dad. So they faked their own deaths and, with some skills Stiles had learned from Danny, started new lives, under new names. John Gajos and his son Stiliyan Gajos, so Stiles could keep his nickname, he couldn't shed himself fully.

As the two of them drove out of Beacon Hills and Roscoe stood in flames with two unidentified bodies they'd borrowed from the morgue, the only regret Stiles had was that he had no way of contacting the Hale Pack and letting them know he was fine. Maybe… Maybe even ask them if he could come live with them. His heart ached at that thought. No. Why would they want him, he was broken beyond repair, he'd killed his own pack-mates. No, this was better. Just him and his dad.

/break\

They'd traveled through the US for a couple months. Never staying anywhere for more than a couple weeks. They moved to Canada and lived there for a few months, giving Stiles the chance to settle and heal at least a little. As he healed, his Spark started to ignite again. Tiny, a fraction of what it used to be, but he could feel its warmth in his chest again. And that warmth pulled him away from America, over the ocean. He told his dad that it felt like his magic was pulling him and his dad had simply shrugged and started packing. They were doing this to be together, the destination didn't matter. It had made Stiles smile ever so softly. So the Gajoses packed up again and moved across the pond to London, because that's where his Spark was pulling Stiles.

The entire flight to London, Stiles sat curled together on his seat on the plane and he kept sketching in his notebook. He wasn't one for drawing, really. He took notes, used words. Words were his weapon of choice. But he'd felt restless since they left Toronto, since take-off.

His dad kept looking over his shoulder. "What are you drawing, kiddo? What is that?"

It startled Stiles out of his thoughts and made him actually look at the page. Swirls. Countless swirls. Always three swirls facing each other, meeting in the middle. The Hale triskele. Stiles' heart skipped a beat as he saw it over and over again on his page. In between, there were a couple of little arrows too. Arrow-heads between triskeles. A smile twisted on his lips.

"Nothing," Stiles muttered and turned the page. "Just something… that was important once."

Noah's – John's – eyes narrowed at him, but his father had mercy on him and didn't force him to explain. How could he? Arrows for the Argents, the man he'd been developing a crush on over the months after the Hales left, the girl who'd once time been a close friend and then Stiles had killed her. Guilt, shame, desire, loss, all knotted up into one twisted strange emotion. And the triskele. Longing, home, family, hope, friendship, belonging, loss, rejection.

London was going to be a new start for them. London was going to be good, Stiles just knew it. He didn't know how, but he knew that this was where him and his dad were going to get a proper fresh start. Beacon Hills kept casting a long shadow that had reached even all the way to Canada and Stiles couldn't, he couldn't, he could not be tempted to go back. London would be safer.

/break\

John sighed tired as he entered their apartment, gaining Stiles' attention. He tilted his head to look at his dad. They shared a small apartment, two bedrooms, a kitchen barely big enough to turn around. But they had to leave everything behind when they left Beacon Hills, including any money they had. All they had saved was a thumb-drive, with all of Stiles' work and all of their family pictures on it – they had both been grateful for fourteen year old Stiles' hyperfixation on scanning all their analog family photos one summer – and the clothes on their backs. Stiles hadn't been able to leave his red leather jacket behind, it was the last thing he'd gotten from Peter, a parting gift when the Hales had left Beacon Hills three years ago. An unspoken promise, since leather jackets were a Hale Pack thing, like they were a gang and not a group of werewolves. Stiles had worn it with pride, even when Scott would glare at it. He couldn't let that go up in flames back then.

With all their worldly possessions and all their savings going up in flames, they'd spent the months of traveling through the US doing odd jobs, anything to get enough money to keep them moving. Living from the hand to the mouth. They were able to gather some small savings during their time in Canada, but that was entirely burned on the move to London.

"Hey, dad," Stiles greeted, returning his attention to the newspaper.

"Hey, kiddo," John stepped up to his son, ruffling his hair and kissing the top of his head. "What are you doing? Looking for jobs again? ...Anything interesting?"

So far, since moving here, Stiles had been working as a waiter in a café. His dad had found a job in a private security company. He couldn't bring himself to join law enforcement, not under a fake name. Mostly, his dad worked nights, which meant they didn't see each other too much, but they needed to make ends meet and his dad's job at least paid enough to keep them afloat.

"I don't…" Stiles trailed off as a name caught his eyes.

His heart jumped into his throat. Hale & Associates. It wasn't a rare last name. There were tens of thousands of Hales in the world. Still, seeing that name made something warm unfurl in his chest. A law firm. The named partner was looking for a private assistant and secretary. Was it silly? To want to apply to a job he had no experience or qualifications for, solely based on the firm's name?

Oh well, the worst that could happen was that he got yet another rejection. Who knew, maybe the name would be his lucky charm, maybe they could catch a break with this. He was going to try.

/break\

Chris smiled bemused as he walked into his husband's law firm, their daughters trailing after him, arguing the entire time. Allison and Malia had adjusted horribly to being step-sisters, taking all the worst quality of siblings. He reached one hand out to ruffle Malia's hair.

"Christopher, what have I told you about bringing the girls?"

Peter heaved a long-suffering sigh as he looked up from the file on his desk. Chris loved that office, it was huge, with a large window front behind him, overseeing all of London. A display of power, something his husband had always loved. Smiling, Chris approached and grabbed Peter by the neck, pulling him into a kiss while the girls set up lunch.

"We aren't girls anymore," Allison pointed out. "We're twenty. Well, I'm twenty-one."

"Don't play the older card again," Malia rolled her eyes.

"Why are they arguing?" Peter asked, turning to Chris.

Mh. Chris blinked repeatedly. He actually had no idea, he'd fully tuned them out.

"We're arguing about the new menu at Stiles' Sweets!" Allison huffed. "Boyd let Erica talk him into adding something absolutely abominable that is not edible. Everyone in the pack knows not to let Erica make any food decisions. But his mate looks at him with the big, brown eyes, he caves."

"I think it's good," Malia glared. "It's weird, but that's good. Stiles liked weird. Stiles would have liked it a lot, so we should keep it on the menu."

For a moment, Chris couldn't breath, his hand grabbing Peter's shoulder to cling onto his husband. Peter wrapped an arm around Chris' waist, pulling him close. Even without seeing Peter's face, Chris knew there was a twist of pain on it. It had warmed their hearts when Boyd and Kira had opened their little café and honored their lost, beloved pack-mate by naming the café after him. But every time the boy came up in conversation, it still hurt the Alpha pair. It hurt a lot.

Peter had left first and he had chosen to not force Stiles to make a decision, had left Stiles behind and promised to come back for him. He never got the chance to. Months before graduation, Stiles and his father had died in a horrible car accident.

Chris felt the same. When he'd left that wretched town, with Allison and Isaac, he had left Stiles behind, had thought it would be wrong to force the boy to leave, thought Stiles would be safe and comforted by his pack. That that was where he needed to be to heal.

Now Stiles was gone forever and they could have prevented it if they had just taken the boy.

"What are you working on, Peter?" Allison asked in a soft voice, changing the topic.

The Alpha lifted his head to offer his stepdaughter a forced but grateful smile. "I'm looking through applicants. Since someone insists on me getting a personal assistant."

"The entire pack agrees that you need a personal assistant, babe," Chris huffed. "I love how much you are flourishing in your work, but you absolutely need someone else to organize it for you and to allow yourself to step back some. You have duties to this pack and this family."

Peter simply grumbled at that, making Chris smile a little. When the Hales had left Beacon Hills three years ago, they'd moved to London, to join the one member of the Hale Pack who had been forced to leave before them – Jackson Whittemore, dragged away by his parents when he had barely become a werewolf. With no ties to any other place, Peter, Derek, Cora, Boyd and Erica had decided to move to London, and Jackson had finally gotten to officially join the Hale Pack. With Jackson's father being a lawyer, Peter got a foot back into his old job, from before the fire. He'd worked hard to build a reputation and ultimately opened his own law-firm. Chris couldn't be prouder of his husband. Well, he could be, if Peter would delegate a little more.

"Show me," Chris ordered, grabbing one of the files.

Both Malia and Allison also perked up, walking around the desk to come to stand on either side of Peter. The smallest smile spread over Chris' lips as he watched Malia bump her hip against Peter's side, gently scent-marking her father. It had taken a lot of time, but the loss of Stiles had brought father and daughter closer together. Lydia had called Jackson, choking on tears as she told him about Stiles' death. They hadn't even bothered to pack anything, they'd left London with the clothes on their backs, not wanting to miss the funeral. The Hale Pack came back with two more members than they had arrived with. Lydia, who'd gone for an early graduation, and Malia, who had nobody and nothing left but her mate, had eagerly left Beacon Hills with her estranged family, now that Stiles was dead. Malia's mate Kira had followed them, right after graduation.

"Stiles," Malia whispered, drawing the attention of her family. "That's stupid. I'm sorry. I just…"

The other three turned toward the file she was looking at. Stiliyan Gajos, twenty years old. Currently working as a waiter. In fact, all his previous jobs were mostly customer service jobs. Nothing in the realm of being a secretary or working with a law firm. But his introductory letter did open up with him preferring to go by Stiles and Chris understood her impulse, that feeling of yearning at hearing that name. Chris heaved a sigh and held onto Peter a little tighter.

"Why not," Peter huffed with a bitter smile. "None of them seem perfect."

"You can't hire a stranger just because it'll mean you'll get to say his name again."

Peter fully ignored Chris' glare. Heaving an exasperated sigh, Chris went to sit down and eat before lunch would get cold. After exchanging a look, Malia and Allison joined him. The girls both had to go back to college after lunch, after all. They didn't have all day, as much as Chris would love that. He was proud of his girls, of both of them. Malia had really struggled with school, but she'd been determined to go to college, because Stiles had helped her so much, had been behind her education so she was trying to live up to his expectations, trying to make him proud even in death.

They all had a Stiles shaped hole in their lives. Their pack had a Stiles shaped hole.

/break\

Peter smiled bemused as he read up on the pack group chat. Erica and Cora were in an all-out brawl about Erica's latest idea for the menu on Stiles' Sweets, while Malia was trying to get some help on an assignment and Lydia, fully ignoring Cora and Erica, kept answering her questions.

It was strange, when Peter had learned the truth about Malia, about having a daughter, he hadn't expected to ever have a real relationship with her. He didn't know how to be a father. She didn't know how to be a human. It'd been stilted and awkward and distant. Until they lost Stiles. Peter had loved that boy and Stiles had been so important to Malia too. That loss had united them.

It had also brought them Lydia, something Peter had never seen coming. Yes, Jackson and Lydia still had their bond. A love that could literally break a curse wasn't something that easily faded, even if both of them pursued different sexual partners when Jackson moved to London. They stayed in contact, all this time. But she had her parents, and the McCall Pack, to keep her in Beacon Hills. It was Stiles' death that had made her leave, no longer able to look Scott in the face. She sought the familiar. Jackson and Allison, Malia had become a friend to Lydia too so her going to London had been another incentive for Lydia to leave. She was brilliant and scary and she would make a terrifying lawyer once she finished her education, Peter couldn't wait to see her in a courtroom.

Knocking on his door interrupted his thoughts, just as he typed a snarky reply to Erica's suggestion. Right, he had that blasted job interview. Heaving a sigh, he put his phone down. He didn't want a personal assistant, but his pack was probably right. Ever since he'd opened his own firm, he had been buried in work and he had other responsibilities too. A personal assistant would go a long way in organizing his appointment and keeping an overview, maybe even help him delegate.

"Come in," Peter called out, leaning back in his chair.

He liked to project an air of authority, threat and predator. After all, he was an Alpha wolf. Let's see how the Gajos boy would do. Peter had interviewed two others already, not impressed by them. And though the boy's preferred name should really not have swayed him, he couldn't help it. Even two years after Stiles' death, there was still a hole in Peter's heart. He loved Chris, loved Chris dearly, had fallen in love with Chris when the man had moved to London for the sake of Isaac, not wanting the boy to become an omega and seeking out Isaac's old pack for comfort. But regardless of how much he loved Chris, Peter doubted he'd ever stop loving Stiles.

"Thank you for having me, I…" Stiles Gajos trailed off, making a startled sound. "Peter?!"

Peter's head snapped up, his attention dragged back to the present day by that voice. That voice. His breath hitched as he looked at the young man in front of him. Messy, brown hair, longer than he remembered, but those moles, that cute upturned nose, the tempting, bow-shaped, pink lips and, most of all, those big, brown doe-eyes with the long lashes.

Peter couldn't breath. He stared at the phantom in front of him, before he growled viciously, his eyes flashing red as he jumped out of his chair and stalked up to the boy, backing him against the door, pinning him with Peter's hands on either side of his head. Doe-eyes widened in fear.

"I don't know what you are, or who you think you are, but you are crossing the wrong Alpha by daring to walk in here wearing his face," Peter snarled, shaking.

Fear melted into confusion, before realization set in. Those eyes, they may be fake but they were good fakes. They looked so real. Peter could see the cogs working behind them, the way he had always loved with his clever boy, so easily putting things together.

"You think I'm dead," the shapeshifter or face-stealer or whatever he was spoke. "Oh no."

"Stop playing games," Peter growled, putting a hand around the intruder's throat to hold him in place, to stop him from escaping. "He died. I was at his funeral. So what do you think gives you the right to use his face to taunt me. I'll make it hurt, I promise."

"Peter," the not-Stiles spoke softly. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't know how to contact you. I was stupid, when I told you to leave and not tell me where to. I didn't… I couldn't call you, any of you, to tell you that I'm alive. I faked my death, to get out of Beacon Hills."

Peter felt himself wavering, hope and despair twisting together. His hand around the boy's throat tightened. But those doe-eyes kept staring him dead in the eye, not afraid. A fake would be afraid at this point. The only one who'd never be afraid of him, not anymore, was Stiles. His Stiles.

"I need you to look at me, Peter," the voice was firm, was so much like Stiles' no-nonsense voice. "I'm wearing your jacket, the one you gave me before you left Beacon Hills. Last time you saw it, it was all new and shiny. It's worn, from years of usage. If I were some shapeshifter or whatever you think, then how would I know about that, how would I know to fake this detail. On top of knowing things that a simple face-stealer wouldn't know. You can only copy a person's memories perfectly if that person is still alive, so if I – Stiles – were dead, then there could not be a perfect copy here, smelling like the real deal, looking like the real deal, having detailed memories."

Smelling. Peter leaned in and the boy willingly, with no reluctance, bared his throat for Peter. Why would he, any werewolf could easily tear out his throat but an Alpha even more so. Making himself this vulnerable, why would he. Peter buried his nose in that long, pale neck, inhaling deeply. That scent of cinnamon, ink and lightning was the most unique blend he'd ever smelt and he would never forget it. A growl ripped from his throat, his hands both going down to grab the boy by the waist, clinging onto him, clinging onto the hope of this being real.

"You can't be unreal," Peter whispered, a near plea. "If this is a trick-"

"It's not," the boy rested his hands on Peter's chest. "I'm real. I… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't… I never wanted to hurt you, any of you, I just didn't know what else to do…"

Peter pushed off, hard. He walked back to his desk, grabbing his phone, typing out a message even as he turned around to get back to Stiles. Emergency pack meeting. Right now. Sending the text, he grabbed Stiles by the wrist, holding tight and pulling him along.

"I will be out of the office for the rest of the day, cancel all my appointments," Peter barked at the receptionist as he dragged Stiles with him into the elevator.

"Uhm, why are you kidnapping me? Where are we going?"

"Pack," Peter forced out, his grip on Stiles tightening. "I need others to see you, I need to make sure you're real. I need to know that I'm not losing my mind again."

"Okay," Stiles' voice was soft. "You're real too, huh?"

Peter's eyes flew down to the boy and he noticed movement. He was pressing his thumbs against the pads of his other fingers, one by one. Peter stilled, sucking in a sharp breath. Malia, Lydia and Kira had told them about this. That after the possession, Stiles had started counting his fingers that way, whenever he was doubtful if something was real or if he was dreaming. A face-stealing creature wouldn't know to do this and Peter's subconscious wouldn't know to add this detail to the hallucination, since he'd never actually seen Stiles do it.

"I am," Peter confirmed after a moment. "There is a lot that needs to be explained, on both sides."

Stiles hummed softly in confirmation, still counting his fingers. Peter's phone rang, startling them both. With his free hand, Peter fished his phone out of his pocket, noting that he had about two dozen notifications from the group chat already, before he accepted the call.

"Hello, love," Peter greeted, trying to breath and calm down.

"Don't 'hello, love' me like that, Hale," Chris barked out. "You can't just call for an emergency pack meeting and then drop out of the chat like that! Do you know how much you scared me? Are you hurt? Are you alright? Are you somewhere safe? Do I need to get to you?"

"I'm sorry," Peter winced. "I could have used more words. I'm fine, I'm not hurt, I'm not in any danger. I have… I have big news, I do have something urgent and the whole pack needs to see. Please organize the pups and herd them back home, I don't care if they still have classes. Tell Boyd and Erica to close the café early today."

Next to him, Stiles stilled at the mention of Boyd and Erica, doe-eyes widening as he stared at Peter with something like hope and longing. Peter clung onto Stiles like a life-line. He needed to be real.

"Peter…" Chris inhaled loudly. "This better be really important. I'll do it, I trust you, but…"

"I understand," Peter assured him. "I… I don't want to tell you over the phone. You need to see…"

If he told Chris that their boy was alive, he didn't know if Chris would be safe to drive home. And maybe Chris would think Peter had lost it, which Peter himself was still wondering.

"I love you," Chris declared gruffly. "Stay safe."

"Always," Peter smiled softly. "I love you too. I'll see you soon."

The call disconnected and Peter put his phone away, aware of Stiles' eyes on him. Curious and prodding, the way Peter remembered them. How much he had missed that inquisitive mind.

"Love, huh?" Stiles raised his eyebrows.

"At home," Peter shook his head. "Please."

Stiles nodded, understanding the need to digest. Probably needing that himself too right now. Stiles seemed as rattled by seeing Peter as Peter himself felt. His hand slipped from Stiles' wrist to properly take his hand, interlacing their fingers, holding onto the boy. Stiles squeezed his hand.

"The jacket looks good on you," Peter noted, looking at his boy. "I knew it would."

A quirk of Stiles' lip, that broad half-grin of his, all crooked and mischievous and beautiful. Peter's heart started racing as he got lost in that grin. He loved this boy so much. He'd missed this boy so much, he hadn't even realized just how much. Like he had lost a part of himself.

/break\

It wasn't a coincident. Peter was such a common first name and Hale wasn't a rare surname either. Why would Stiles expect to meet Peter Hale in London, after all. He'd never considered that the Hale Pack fully left the US. But when he walked into the lawyer's office, that was undeniably Peter Hale sitting there behind that imposing desk, looking handsome as ever.

Not going to lie, getting threatened by Peter had taken him by surprise at first, but when he realized that Peter had spent the past two years thinking Stiles was dead? Damn. It figured that the wolf would think him to be some kind of trick. Not that Stiles didn't think the same. He instinctively counted his fingers, unsure if this was real, if Peter was real.

"Where are we going?" Stiles asked as they drove out of the city.

"Home," Peter replied simply, voice warm and filled with love.

It made Stiles' heart ache in envy. He missed having a home. He had his dad, his dad was his home, but a place that felt like home? He did miss that. Folding a little smaller, he let himself be driven out of the city and onto a farm. His eyes widened at the beautiful, huge farm house.

"Welcome to the Hale Farm," Peter smiled as he parked the car. "Come."

Hale Farm. They had a farm. Oh, that somehow made Stiles happy. Large enough lands, a bit out of town so the wolves could roam free. Climbing out of the car, he eagerly looked around as much as he could see, even while Peter led him into the house.

"Uncle," Derek growled from somewhere once they entered the house. "What is…"

Derek. Stiles' eyes widened and he eagerly pushed past Peter to run in the direction of the voice. He hadn't seen Derek in years. Before they'd left, Derek had practically become his best friend after Scott. Rounding the corner, Stiles entered a spacious living room with three couches and two love seats and there stood Derek. He looked more mature and a little softer than Stiles remembered him, but it was Derek. Without thinking on it did Stiles launch himself at the wolf.

"Derek, holy shit, I missed you," Stiles gasped out.

The wolf beneath him was frozen, not moving. Oh. Right. Probably had the same reaction as Peter. Stiles really hoped nobody was going to rip his throat out today. Slowly, he peeled himself off Derek and took a step back. The look on Derek's face was wrecked. Fully heartbroken.

"No…" Derek's voice actually croaked. "This… This can't be… You're dead."

"I can explain, I will explain, please don't threaten me for thinking I'm a shapeshifter, your uncle already did that," Stiles blurted out. "I'm real. I'm alive. I didn't die. I'm not dead."

Whines drew his attention to the couches and he noticed the other wolves in the room. Erica was sitting on Boyd's lap, next to them was Isaac. On the other couch were Jackson and Cora. Stiles' heart jumped as he looked at the Hale Pack, a bright smile lighting up his face even though he was surprised to see Jackson here. But then he did dimly remember that four years ago, when Jackson had left, his parents had moved to London, Lydia had said something like that.

"A… Are you really real?" Erica asked in a shaky voice. "Are you really our Stiles?"

Our Stiles. Stiles' heart clenched and he blinked away tears as he nodded. The next second, he found himself in the middle of a suffocating puppy-pile. All five betas got off the couches and were suddenly hugging him – even Jackson. They were crying. Crying because they'd missed him, because they thought he was dead. Holy shit. He was sobbing himself, burying his face in Boyd's chest while Erica rubbed her face against his neck. This felt like coming home.

"Peter, you better have a good reason for this."

The voice was gruff and Stiles vaguely recognized it but couldn't place it. It had him tense.

"I still have two more classes," Lydia. "I got out of class early for this, make it good, Alpha."

Lydia was here. Why was Lydia here. Lydia was part of Scott's pack. Stiles' heart-rate picked up, and not in a good way. The betas clinging onto him let go reluctantly as the new arrivals entered the room. Stiles froze, fear gripping him as he saw Lydia, Malia, Kira, Chris and Allison enter.

"S… Stiles…" Lydia's voice broke, her eyes widening. "I knew it. I knew it. I would have screamed for you, if you had died, I would have screamed for you, I knew you couldn't be dead, I knew it."

The next second, the redhead was clinging onto his neck, nearly throwing him off-balance. Stiles couldn't help but flinch, more wary. Not necessarily because of her but because she wasn't Hale. She was McCall. So were Malia and Kira. Why were they here? Was Scott here too? Had they found him? Had they been looking for him? Was everything for naught now?

"W… Why are you here?" Stiles asked, voice a little frantic as he stared at Lydia, Kira and Malia. "Is… Is Sco… Is Scott here too? Is the rest of his pack here?"

"We're Hale Pack," Malia replied, tilting her head with a frown. "We left Beacon Hills with dad and the others, when they came back to Beacon Hills for your funeral."

Stiles' heart clenched at that. "Y… You came back for my funeral…? But… But…"

"Lydia called me," Jackson shrugged, not looking at him. "Lyds and I stayed in contact this whole time. She didn't know the Hale Pack was here though. Peter said he promised you not to let anyone in Beacon Hills know where they were, so I never told her. But I told them, when she told me about your… about your death. We came back for your funeral."

Everyone was staring at Stiles and his heart was racing. Between the Hale Pack – the Hale Pack he knew about – and the former McCall Pack members and the Argents, he was completely overwhelmed. Judging by the looks on their faces, they all were as overwhelmed though.

"Kira and I were at the grocery store," Chris spoke in a detached voice, his eyes not leaving Stiles, sounding like he was on autopilot. "We went to pick up the girls from college."

Chris and Allison approached him and he couldn't help but flinch away, half hiding behind Derek. They must hate him. How could they not hate him. He'd killed Allison. He'd killed Allison. His heart-rate picked up as panic took over, tears burning in his eyes. His thumbs pressed hard against the pads of his other fingers, one by one, counting. He couldn't look away from Allison.

"Stiles…?" Allison spoke softly, like she was talking to a spooked animal.

The others took a careful step back from him, like they were trying to give him space. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real. Why would the Argents be here? The Hale Pack, maybe, maybe that could be real. But Lydia, Malia and Kira? That was too much, they had been the only ones he'd still relied on in the McCall Pack. But Chris and Allison? Why would they be here?

"This isn't real," Stiles whispered frantically to himself, aggressively counting his fingers. "You're not real. You can't be here. Why would you be here. This is just… just in my head."

Tears ran down his cheeks at that realization. Of course it was. He should have known the moment he walked into Peter's office. Why should he get to see Peter again? Why should he get to see Derek and Boyd and Erica and Isaac again? He didn't deserve that. His knees buckled.

"Stiles," Lydia's voice was sharp as she knelt down in front of him. "Listen to my voice. This is real. We're real. We're here, okay? Can you do something for me? Can you focus on your surroundings? Can you name four things you can see?"

Stiles' eyes flew around the room. "T… Table. Couch. Fur. Fireplace."

There was lamb fur in front of a fireplace. It looked so comfortable. The thought was jarring.

Lydia smiled at him. "Okay, good. And three things that you can here?"

"Birds," Stiles blinked repeatedly. "Your voice. Peter growling."

His eyes found the Alpha who stood tensely close by, looking like he was holding himself back.

"You're doing great, sweetie. Can you tell me two things that you can feel?"

He pressed a hand down onto the wooden floor, the other holding his jacket. "Wood. Leather."

"Good," Lydia's smile grew. "One last one? Can you read something for me?"

She pointed over toward the book-shelf behind Peter and Stiles jerked when he saw the book-titles. Could read the books titles. Ten fingers. Words. This was real. He took a shaky breath.

"A Midsummer Night's Dream," Stiles whispered, eyes on the book in the shelf.

"Good," Lydia brushed a hand through his hair. "You're doing great. Do you feel better?"

Stiles shook his head. No. He felt like throwing up what little he had in his stomach. His eyes went back to Chris and Allison, who stood there, frozen in the spot, looking at him with horrified expressions. Of course they did. He was a monster. He killed her.

"I'm sorry," Stiles voice broke, pleading with them. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I-"

"None of that," Lydia grabbed his face firmly, redirecting his attention to her. "I have no idea what's going on in your head right now, but you are not slipping into another panic attack, do you hear me? You'll breath, slowly, and calm yourself down enough to articulate what's wrong."

Stiles curled together, making himself small as he sat on the floor. The pack started moving slowly, like they didn't mean to spook him, sitting down on the couches. Stiles saw the way Peter slipped a hand into Chris' and wrapped his other arm around Allison in comfort. A sparkle on their linked hands caught Stiles' attention. Wedding bands. His breath hitched. Oh, this so could not be real, not only should the Argents not be here, but the two men he'd been in love with were married? Last time he had seen them interact, they were barely keeping from ripping each other apart.

"I need…" Stiles took a shaky breath. "I need you to make this make sense, I need you to explain why A… Why they are here, how this… Why you're here. I need you to make this feel real. Because it's just overwhelming and bizarre and unreal to me and that frightens me."

"Right. He's the one who died but we have to explain ourselves first," Jackson snorted.

There was an accusation in his eyes too and Stiles knew it was a deserved accusation.

"Jackson," Isaac snarled, eyes flashing, while Erica and Malia were right behind him.

"What?" Jackson snarled right back. "He died! We were at his funeral! We cried over his fucking grave and he's just here, alive, and we have to explain first?"

"He's also the one with possession-induced PTSD," Kira spoke up gently. "And all of us being together, without him understanding how, is currently making him question if this is even real."

Stiles folded himself even smaller, legs drawn up against his chest. He wrapped his arms around his knees, turning his wrist over to read the sentence etched into his skin – This is real. You're awake, Mischief. Written in his mother's handwriting, pieced together from his mother's cook-books. His heart clenched at the thought that he had left them behind. He had them scanned, on his drive, but the physical books, they couldn't take them when they left Beacon Hills. He started shaking.

"When we left Beacon Hills," Peter's voice was even, forcibly even. "Me, Derek, Cora, Boyd and Erica, we left and came here, because of Jackson. Because he was a beta of the Hale Pack, even as he'd had to leave. We had no other place to go, so we followed Derek's first beta."

Stiles sucked his lower lip in, regarding the core Hale Pack and Jackson. "Okay."

"When we left Beacon Hills," Chris spoke up and Stiles instinctively flinched at his voice, causing Chris to hesitate for a moment before he continued. "We went to France for three weeks, more a vacation, really. But Isaac needed a pack, and I figured that he would be more stable, more happy, with his pack, so I spent our weeks in France tracking down the Hale Pack."

Stiles blinked repeatedly, looking at Isaac. Isaac, leaning against Boyd and Erica. The first three Hale Pack betas. Stiles knew how much Isaac had missed them. After the Hale Pack had left, Isaac crawled into Stiles' bedroom many nights, seeking solace, knowing that he couldn't talk to Scott about how much he missed the Hales, knowing Stiles missed them too. This made sense.

"Okay," Stiles nodded, not looking away from Isaac, not looking at the Argents.

"You died, Stiles," Lydia's voice wobbled. "We all thought you died and I called Jackson, I told him, I cried on the phone with him for hours, and they came. They came for the funeral. It was… tense, it nearly escalated into a fight with Scott's pack, but they came. And when I saw Jackson again, after all this time, when he held me while we stood at your grave, when I thought that… that you were gone forever, I didn't know what else was holding me in Beacon Hills. Allison, Jackson, they were both in London and you were dead and I had graduated early anyway, so I packed my bags and left so I could have my boyfriend and my best friend."

Stiles' lips quirked as he watched Lydia reach for Jackson's hand. He always knew those two would find each other again. A love that could defy a curse, how could it not withstand the distance.

"Lydia and you were like my favorite people in the pack, after Kira," Malia frowned. "And then you were dead and Lydia said she was leaving and I… You always told me that I should try and rekindle my relationship with my dad, it was… it was so important to you and it felt like… like something I could do that would make you proud, so I gave him a chance and went with them."

The tentative smile turned into a genuine, bright smile at that. He'd bugged her for months, wanting her to give Peter a chance, knowing that post-resurrection Peter was a better man. He also knew what it was like to lose family and he thought that she shouldn't miss out on the family she still had – the father and the two cousins that she never bothered to get to know.

"I stayed in Beacon Hills until I graduated," Kira tagged on. "And I eased my parents into the idea of me moving to London after graduation and, yeah, I… I followed Malia and Lydia and got to know the Hale Pack and then I joined it and now we're… now we're pack."

Okay. One by one, these made sense. Their reasoning made sense. Stiles took a shaky breath.

"This is really real? You're really all here in one room?" Stiles asked one last time.

"It is, sweetheart," Peter promised gently. "Will you tell us how you're alive now?"

Stiles went back to chewing his lip, hard. He wished he didn't have to. He'd tried so hard not to think about any of this for the past two years, pushing it down as far as he could. His eyes landed on Allison for just a moment before he quickly averted his gaze again.

"I think things between me and Scott had… had been crumbling for a long time, maybe since the bite," Stiles started softly, pulling himself closer together. "But something between us broke when I… when I killed Allison. He couldn't really look at me anymore, we stopped hanging out, and I can't blame him for it. I couldn't look at myself anymore."

"Stiles, you didn't kill me," Allison interrupted concerned. "I'm right here. I'm alive. Is… Is this something that the demon made you think? A nightmare?"

Stiles' face twisted into a grimace and he tried to make himself even smaller. "I killed you."

"No, you didn't," Chris' voice was firm and serious. "The demon stabbed Allison, but even it didn't kill her. Stiles, look at me. You did not kill Allison."

Stiles couldn't fight the command in the hunter's voice and he looked up at Chris, tears running down his cheeks. "I did. It stabbed her and it made me watch, a… and… and she died. When Lydia screamed that day, she… she didn't scream because someone might die, she screamed because Allison did die. She died in my arms and I was too late. I could fight for control but it was too late and Allison was dead and I killed her and it was my fault-"

"Allison isn't dead, sweetheart," Peter interrupted him firmly. "This was some trick from the demon. I'm sorry it made you see that, believe that, but…"

"No," Stiles shook his head frustrated. "She died but I couldn't let her stay dead. I used my Spark. I poured all of my magic into her to pull her soul back. It was… I… I think in the end, that's why we managed to exorcise the Nogitsune, because it had been feeding off my magic, but… I didn't have any magic left after that, there was nothing there to sustain it anymore."

"Y… You… I died? And you gave up your magic to bring me back?"

Stiles reluctantly turned toward Allison, tears staining his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I killed you, I didn't, I wasn't strong enough to stop it, I couldn't stop it, I'm sorry."

"You gave up your magic to save my life, Stiles," Allison's brows furrowed and she shook her head. "You have nothing to apologize for. What the demon did wasn't your fault, nobody blames you for what the Nogitsune did. But you chose to give your magic for me, I don't know how to thank you."

She threw herself at him, hugging him close and tight, burying her face in his neck as she also started crying, her body shaking with her sobs. Stiles just sat stiffly in her arms. Why didn't she hate him? He had killed her. She should hate him. That was why they had left, after all.

"W… Why are you hugging me," Stiles asked unsure. "You hate me. You should hate me. You left. Because I killed you. You left to get away from me."

There were surprised gasps, but all Stiles could do was look at Allison with fear and confusion. "Stiles, no… We didn't leave because of you. We left because this town killed everyone in our family. My aunt, my mom, my grandfather – they may not have been good people and they have brought it upon themselves, but they were still our family. And now this town nearly killed me. K… Killed me, apparently. Isaac was the same, he lost his mom, his brother, his father. We left to get away before this town could also kill us. That wasn't about you."

"I wanted to take you with us," Chris added reluctantly. "I wanted to get you out of this town too, after what it had done to you. But you had your dad, you had… Scott, his pack."

Stiles flinched, this time not because of Chris' voice but because of the mention of Scott. "Yeah, well… that didn't last. What happened, what I did as the Nogitsune, it… it drove a wedge between us. We drifted more and more apart, gradually… And I get it…"

"Is… Is that why you pulled away from me? From us?" Lydia asked softly. "Because you thought we blamed you for what happened with Allison? Or for Allison leaving?"

Stiles shrugged and frowned, not looking at her. The next moment, he had Lydia, Malia and Kira hugging him tightly from three sides, clinging onto him. He sat there still and overwhelmed.

"Is that why you… what exactly happened even?" Boyd asked with a frown. "What happened?"

"Theo…" Stiles frowned, checking the others' faces to see if they knew who he was talking about. "Theo got into Scott's head, he gained Scott's trust to a degree that… that Scott trusted him more than me. I kept trying to warn him, for months I tried to warn him."

"We know," Lydia heaved a sigh, furrowing her own brows in guilt. "I'm sorry. We didn't… He was very charming, we thought you were… you were in a fragile state of mind."

"Paranoid," Stiles offered, raising his eyebrows at her. "I was paranoid. It's just that I wasn't paranoid about that. That was real. And… And Scott's not the only one into whose head he got. It was like Theo knew exactly where my weaknesses laid. It was so easy to believe him because he didn't say anything I wasn't already fearing myself. That Allison and Chris left because of me, hated me for what I'd done, that you hated me for what I've done, that I should give up on trying to find the Hales because I'd just be a burden, I was suck a fucking mess I'd just be too much work for anyone, that… that it would have been better if you'd just taken the Nogitsune out instead of trying to save me because then so many people would still be alive, Aiden would still be alive, I wouldn't have killed Allison, everything would have been better if you'd just killed me."

There was a near painful silence in the room, all eyes so unbearably heavy as they stared at him. Pained expressions, aborted motions, mouths opening and closing, lost for words.

"Stiles, we would have never given up on you," Chris' voice was steady and honest. "We would have always tried to save you, letting you die was not an option and you can't think-"

"It's okay," Stiles heaved a sigh and leaned back, resting his head against the couch behind him. "I know that. Now. But I'm telling you what happened two years ago. I… I know now that that was the survivor's guilt and the way Theo was gaslighting me, twisting me up. I went to therapy, you know. When dad and I lived in Toronto, I started seeing a therapist. I'm… I'm good, I mean better. Generally I am better, I'm not always such a fucking mess like I am right now. This is just all… a whole damn lot of triggers at once, okay? But I am in a… better place, overall."

"Toronto," Cora repeated, staring at him.

"Right," Stiles ran a hand over his face. "So, yeah. Theo was really getting into my head, and into Scott's head, and I was… barely part of the pack anymore already by the time he sent Donovan to kill me and I… killed Donovan in self-defense. But… Scott didn't believe me. Scott believed Theo over me, loaded it over my head that in his pack, we don't kill and it was… it was so loaded. It wasn't just about Donovan. It was about killing Peter, about our fight over how we should have killed Gerard for good the first time around, about Allison and Aiden. We've been drifting apart for a long time and so did our morals. I've never had a problem with killing if it was necessary, because sometimes it is necessary, and he… hated that. Everything has always been black and white for him. But once you've been possessed by a millennia old chaos demon, you gain a much better understanding for all the shades of gray in the world. And I already had a good grasp on it before."

Stiles relaxed a little, stretching his legs out in front of himself and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. "Donovan, when he was trying to kill me, talked about the way he was going to kill my dad and that's when I knew I had to get out. Because Theo sent Donovan. To intimidate me. If I didn't stop, Theo was going to have my dad killed and… most ikely, also get me killed. I… I didn't know what to do. Theo had effectively isolated me from pretty much everyone, Scott didn't trust me anymore, I thought you didn't trust me anymore, I had no means of contacting the Hale Pack, I… I didn't know what to do. I knew he wouldn't stop until we're dead, so… so we died. We faked out deaths and we left Beacon Hills."

Taking a shaky breath, Stiles relaxed a little more. "We made our way to Canada, very… very… slowly. I mean, we had to leave everything behind, so nobody would suspect we left. No money, no car, nothing but the clothes on our backs. So we hitchhiked, we walked, we… worked every odd job we could to make enough money to stay in motels. We stayed in some towns for a couple weeks, saving up, until we could finally afford a car. Shitty car that barely made it to Toronto."

Stiles was aware that he'd snuggled more into his jacket when talking about the clothes on their backs, he was also aware of the way Peter was watching him. "We lived in Toronto for the longest. Before we came here, to London. I've… I've only been doing odd jobs, waiting tables, customer service, grocery stores, anything I could get. That and, well, healing, I guess. Therapy and all that."

Heaving a sigh, Stiles tilted his head forward to look at Peter. "I didn't expect it to be you. The name caught my eye when I was looking for a job and it… made me feel nostalgic. But even when I read your first name, I still… I figured it was a coincident. What were the chances, after all. I didn't think you left the US, much less that you'd end up in England."

Sitting up, Stiles started tapping his fingers against his knee, a small grin spreading over his lips. "Guess it wasn't a coincident at all. While we were living in Toronto, when I… finally got to breath again without jumping at every sound I heard… When therapy started showing some effect, my Spark started… returning. Really weak, but I could feel it again for the first time."

Allison gasped softly and there were gentle and excited looks on the others' faces. Stiles rested a hand against his chest, like he was physically trying to grasp his Spark. He could feel it pulse.

"That's why we left Toronto," Stiles continued. "Because my Spark was pulling me to London. And now, I think, that my Spark's what drew me to that ad and made me go to that job interview."

"Are you saying your Spark likes me?" Peter offered a playful grin.

Stiles blinked at him with curious eyes. "Of course it does. It first ignited when I was part of the Hale Pack. My magic is inherently linked to your pack, so it was pulling me here."

"Oh," Peter swallowed and looked at him wondrously. "That… I didn't know that."

A shrug, and then Stiles averted his eyes again. "There's an interplay between the Nemeton, the Spark and the pack. I guess… Beacon Hills is now fully fucked, the Nemeton was already dying, the pack left and now its Spark left too… But yeah. The Hale Pack is the rightful pack of Beacon Hills and I'm the rightful Spark of Beacon Hills, so… we are tethered together."

Silence fell between them as everyone let things sink in. That was a lot to digest, on both sides. Stiles yawned and arched his back, causing it to crack in multiple places. This had been draining. His phone rang, the sound immensely loud in the silence of the farm house. Yelping, Stiles dug his phone out and accepted his dad's call and shit how much time had passed?

"Stiles," his dad sounded frantic. "Your job interview should have ended two hours ago, but I just got home and you're not here, it doesn't look like you were here at all and you didn't leave a note, please tell me you're just out somewhere celebrating your new job and you forgot to text me, because if something happened, if someone found you-"

"Dad, dad, slow down!" Stiles hunched over, wide-eyed. "I'm fine. I'm sorry. I'm fine. Nothing happened, nobody found me. Mischief's honor."

He could hear the relieved shutter of his dad's breath. It was their code. Mischief's honor, to make sure Stiles wasn't under duress and forced to lie. Stiles took a slow breath himself.

"Where are you, kiddo? When will you be home?"

"I… uh…" Stiles blinked doe-eyed, looking around the tense pack. "I kinda… ran into some friends. I don't know when I'll be home. I'll text you before I leave, I promise. I'm sorry I worried you, I didn't mean to worry you. Kocham cię, tatusiu." [Polish translation: I love you, dad.]

That also relaxed his dad some. It always did. He knew Stiles was safe if he was comfortable speaking Polish. They had too many contingencies and codes. Paranoia still had its hold on them.

"I love you too, kiddo," John sighed. "Tell me how the job interview went, before we hang up?"

"Uhm…" Stiles tilted his head. "Honestly, I have no idea. My potential boss kinda threatened tearing out my throat and then kidnapped me, so mixed vibes?"

"Stiles," his dad barked out in distress. "Are you trying to kill me, son?"

"I'm sorry," Stiles laughed, loud and genuine. "I could not resist. Remember when I said it was a weird coincident that the guy's name was Peter Hale? Yeah, that was not a coincident. I'm with the Hales right now. The threatening was, uh, well, I mean he thought I was dead."

Silence and he could just imagine his dad rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Peter Hale? As in, Derek Hale's uncle? The guy who got us into this whole damn mess by turning Scott?"

"My apologies for that, sheriff," Peter called out loudly. "I spend every day regretting it."

Another beat of silence. "And you're really okay, kiddo?"

"Yeah," Stiles smiled, a real smile. "I promise. I'll text before I head back home. Mischief's honor."

The call disconnected and Stiles pocketed his phone again. The pack was looking at each other, having silent conversations with just looks. Derek and Peter did a full eyebrow conversation and fuck, Stiles had missed that. The Hale eyebrows. He couldn't help but smile.

"What are you guys doing here?" Stiles asked after another moment. "I mean, actually doing. Peter is a lawyer. But what about you all…? How… How have your lives been?"

"I am on my way to becoming a lawyer," Lydia smiled like a shark. "And my future father-in-law and my Alpha are fighting over who gets me in their firm."

Peter grumbled at that, glaring. "David can fuck right off. I'm your Alpha."

"Me and Boyd opened a café together," Kira smiled brightly. "Did you know that Boyd is a brilliant baker, actually? You have to come by some time, on the house!"

"Yeah?" Stiles grinned, looking between them. "What's it called."

Silence, awkward silence, before Boyd cleared his throat. "It's called Stiles' Sweets."

At that, Stiles actually had to blink some tears away. "Oh. I… Well, then I have to come by."

"I work there too, mostly waiting tables, barista work," Erica piped in before the atmosphere dropped. "No interest in being the boss, but having a lot of fun with the menu."

"You are a menace and should not be allowed near food," Allison pointed out dryly.

Erica flipped her off and threw a pillow at her, causing Allison to laugh and oh. They were friends now. Pack. This was new and strange to Stiles, but he still felt warm at it. At some of his favorite people actually getting along, being friends.

"I'm going to college," Malia straightened, looking proud.

"You are?" Stiles brightened and reached out to nudge her. "I'm so proud of you, I always knew you had it in you, girl. I'm sure you're rocking it."

Malia practically preened at his words, making Stiles smile even more. Allison smiled at him.

"I'm also going to college, I'm a business major. I want to open a store, for outdoors activities like archery and hunting. The Silver Arrow, it's gonna be named," Allison replied.

"We," Isaac pointed at himself, Derek, Cora, Jackson and Chris. "Work at the farm."

"So this isn't just a gig for more space to roam free? It's an actual farm?"

"Yeah," Derek grunted, proud look on his face. "We grow apples, we sell our chickens' eggs and our vegetables at farmers' markets in the city."

"That's awesome," Stiles grinned at him.

"How about food?" Cora suggested after a moment. "It's getting late."

There was an awkward pause in which Stiles didn't really know if he should excuse himself, before Erica and Malia wrapped their arms around him from either side and maneuvered him up and toward the very spacious, very beautiful kitchen. Guess he was staying for dinner.

"If you think we're letting you go again, you are mistaken," Erica whispered, nudging him. "We should have chloroformed and kidnapped you back when we left."

"You're so loving and kind, I feel so cherished," Stiles rolled his eyes.

"She isn't wrong," Peter spoke behind him, face and voice serious, his eyes filled with regret. "I should have insisted. I shouldn't have waited, I shouldn't have left you behind."

The rest of the pack started fussing around the kitchen, getting ingredients and pots and pans out and preparing dinner in what was clearly a daily routine. Stiles turned around to face the Alpha. Peter's arms were crossed over his face, a deep frown aimed at him.

"I would have resented you for it," Stiles replied honestly. "I had so much faith in Scott, so much loyalty toward him. And I had my dad and… and mom's… grave. I would have resented you if you'd tried to force me to leave back then. You did the right thing, Peter. You and your pack got out when you had to and you… promised me a chance. It's just that… it never came to that."

Stiles blinked back tears, swallowing a lump in his throat. "I wanted to wait, I endured it as long as I could, I… I kept hoping that you would come. But… I couldn't. I had to get out, I… don't think I would have survived until graduation. Either Theo would have killed me, or… well, or everything else would have killed me. I wasn't sleeping, I wasn't eating, I couldn't focus. I lost so much weight and I was… really losing my mind, I think my body would have given in before graduation."

It was harsh, but he knew it was the truth. Something clattered behind him and he didn't care to see the despair on the pack's faces. He kept his eyes on Peter's hand. The wedding band.

"We should have noticed," Lydia's voice was filled with pain and guilt.

"I did everything I could to cover it up," Stiles shrugged. "And I did pull away from you. I don't blame you for not rescuing me, Lydia. That wasn't your job. That was nobody's job. I had to rescue myself. And I think… I really do think that I needed to do that myself, because with the Nogitsune, I had all my agency taken from me. I needed to regain control. And I did."

"And we're proud of you for it," Chris spoke, keeping his voice soft.

Still trying not to spook him, which… fair enough, considering his earlier reactions. Stiles winced, rubbing his face. He turned around, away from Peter, so he could face Chris. Damn. That man aged like fine wine in the past two years, much more gray in his hair, fully owning the silver fox look. Broader shoulders, stronger arms, which made sense with the physical labor around the farm.

"I really thought you'd hate me," Stiles frowned at him. "But you… really didn't leave because of me, huh? I'm sorry. It was just… It was easier to believe that you hated me than to think you could forgive me, because I couldn't forgive myself and I… hated myself, for a long time. Maybe still hate myself a little bit, but considerably less than I did back then."

Chris heaved a sigh, a sad and devastated sound, as he stepped up to Stiles. "Can I hug you?"

That gave Stiles pause, but after a moment he gave a reluctant nod. He gasped softly when he was pulled into a broad, strong chest, arms tight around him. It took him a second to return the hug, but damn did this feel good. It also reawakened stupid, old feelings. Feelings that had grown after Peter and Derek had left, when Chris had become the sole adult voice near the McCall Pack. Still deeply in love with Allison, Scott had consulted Chris a lot, trying to show his respect for the man. And due to that, Stiles had worked together with Chris a lot, growing closer. Falling for the older man.

"We're all very proud of you, Stiles," Chris whispered, voice rough and breath hot against Stiles' neck. "For working through your trauma, for getting out all on your own. We're proud of you."

And just like that, Stiles started crying. Tears of relief and joy and confusion. And Chris simply held him, stroking his back through it until Stiles was calmed down again, and even after. Once Stiles regained his bearings, he gently tapped Chris' arm, at which the man reluctantly let him go.

"What about your fake name," Allison asked once things were calmed down. "The Stiliyan, because you could nickname it to Stiles. Which… Which is why Peter picked you to get a job interview. When we were going through the applications, yours stood out because it made us think of, well, of you, and… that made Peter nostalgic. But what about your last name?"

"Mom's maiden name," Stiles grinned weakly. "Not the best kind of fake name, I know, I know, but… but I had to sacrifice Roscoe and we had to leave the place where she is buried and… we wanted to take a part of her with us. Our first names are fake, we figured that'd be enough."

Chris rested a hand on his shoulder, gently guiding Stiles to sit at the very large dining table. Cora and Kira were setting the table, while Derek was filling wine glasses. Peter took a seat to one side of Stiles, sitting close. Close enough that Stiles could feel the heat radiating off the wolf. There was a tenseness to his body, like the Alpha was holding back something.

"You can scent-mark me if you want," Stiles offered after a moment.

Peter startled, looking like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Are you sure?"

"I can see how much you want to," Stiles huffed amused. "It's… been a while since I had a wolf want to scent-mark me last, but if you want to, you can."

The tension seeped out of Peter as he reached out, running a hand through Stiles' hair, down his arm, resting it in his neck. Damn, Peter was not being subtle or short. Apparently, the Alpha really had the urge to scent mark him. That should not make Stiles feel as pleased as it did. He really thought he had gotten over his infatuation with Peter, back when he started falling for Chris, or at least in Toronto, when he had been with a girl, who had been so sweet.

"I really hope you're not limiting that offer to Peter," Chris chuckled, motioning at the counters and stove. "Because the betas look ready to burst and if you deny them they just might."

Stiles followed the motion with his eyes, noticing how Derek, Cora, Malia, Boyd, Erica, Isaac and even Jackson were looking at him like he was the juiciest steak they could imagine. It made Stiles grin, his heart skipping a beat and a warmth unfurling in his chest.

"How about this, after dinner, we have a big puppy pile and everybody gets to scent the Stiles however much they want?" Stiles offered amused. "But after dinner, because I am actually starving. I haven't eaten all day, I was way too nervous this morning and we kind… missed lunch."

Peter growled lowly and Chris grunted displeased and Stiles looked between them startled. What?

"You shouldn't skip meals, Stiles," Peter glared at him.

Stiles rolled his eyes at that. "Yeah, believe me, I know. Took me long enough to regain the weight I lost over the Nogitsune. I didn't mean to skip breakfast, but I have a system. I carry cereal bars with me and I do… I rather skip a meal when I know my nerves are just going to make me throw up. So, the plan was to get through the job interview, eat my cereal bars and then have lunch somewhere. Didn't get around to steps two and three there due to the minor kidnapping happening."

To his amusement and surprise did Peter actually look guilty at that. How adorable. Leaning closer, Stiles bumped shoulders with Peter, trying to ease some tension. This was going to take some getting used to. For too long, his dad had been the only one to care about him. Now, there seemed to be people in his life again who cared about him and judging by the way they were all looking at him, they were not going to let him slip away again.

/break\

Chris grunted as he hefted a crate of apples up. He turned around with it, rolling his eyes when he saw Allison, Lydia and Kira all sitting together and watching them. Lydia's eyes were glued to Jackson, delighted to see her fiance do physical labor, while Kira was more subtle in sneaking glances at Malia, flushing every time she felt like she got caught. Allison grinned at her dad, waving. Her and Lydia were technically doing school work and Kira was working on the work schedule for her café. Meanwhile, Erica, Boyd and Malia were helping out at the farm right now. They always did when it was time for harvest, because in the end, it was their family business.

Chris took a deep breath. That still felt good to think. That he had a family again. Not just through his husband, with their daughters. But being the Alpha Mate, he had developed a whole different kind of appreciation for a wolf pack, unlike how he had felt toward the McCall Pack. These betas? They were his betas, they were his family. They'd helped him recover.

"Stiles texted," Lydia called out delighted.

It made Chris snort, the way all betas immediately perked up. Ever since Peter had run into Stiles last week and a half, they were all pretty much obsessed with the boy. At least two betas managed to see Stiles every day, they had lured the boy back to the farm once already for dinner, Stiles had gone to have lunch three times at Stiles' Sweets over this past week. Quite frankly, Chris was impressed by their self-control. Every night, Chris had to fight Peter on how much the Alpha wanted to go and just drag Stiles into their den and not let him leave. Last time Stiles was over for dinner, on Saturday, the Alpha – and his betas too – hadn't wanted to let the boy go again.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense," Jackson growled, nuzzling her neck.

Partially to be close to his mate, partially to look over her shoulder at her phone. It made Chris chuckle, the way the betas were practically circling Lydia, waiting for more information.

"He said that him and his dad would love to come over for dinner on Friday."

"Yes," Erica actually fist-bumped the air.

"At which part do we show him his bedroom and then just lock him into it?" Malia asked.

"No," Allison gave her step-sister a glare. "We are not doing that, Mal. We talked about it."

"We did," Malia nodded. "And I still don't agree with your point of view. The whole pack lives in this house. But Stiles has only been over twice. I only saw him four times in the past ten days, that's just not enough. That's wrong. He needs to be here."

Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Cora sat down in front of them on the ground, with Erica leaning against her mate and putting her feet into Cora's lap. Boyd's fingers gently carded through Erica's curls.

"And we all agree with you on that, Mals," Erica assured her, heaving a long-suffering sigh. "I just want to hug him and never let go, now that we know he's alive. It's like I'm afraid that it was just a nice dream after all, every time he leaves again, that we won't get to see him again."

"But," Kira redirected, pressing a soothing kiss to Malia's cheek. "Stiles has been through a lot and we don't want to push him. We want to ease him into this, into joining our pack."

Shaking his head, Chris walked past the betas, leaving them to their debate – a debate Chris has had with both Malia and Peter repeatedly over the past week, father and daughter very much agreed on their preferred method of keeping Stiles. Inside the house, he found his husband, sitting in the living room on the fur in front of the fireplace, his laptop on his thighs. He wasn't working though, he was very clearly listening in on the betas' debate outside.

"Babe," Chris grunted, sitting down next to Peter and wrapping his arms around the Alpha's waist. "No, we are not kidnapping Stiles and keeping him."

A grumble that had no right to be as cute as it was came from the wolf. "You are no fun, Christopher. He is alive. He is here. He should be ours."

Not like Chris could argue that. Losing Stiles was what had driven the two of them together. They'd cried and screamed and fought – physically fought – blaming each other for not getting their boy out of there. Heated kisses with more biting than tenderness had followed. Rough sex that was more hate sex than genuine passion for each other. Over the following months, that hate sex turned into something filled with love, as the two held each other through the loss. They both had been in love with Stiles, still were, a traitorous part of Chris' brain supplied, and they had lost him. That loss had made Chris and Peter who they were now, had brought them together.

"I love you, Christopher," Peter spoke fiercely, pressing a kiss to his temple. "I can see your thoughts on your face and him being alive does not change anything between us."

The smallest smile played on Chris' lips as he nodded. "Okay. But it does change something, doesn't it? Seeing him again, seeing him alive, having him in our home, with our pack…"

"It does," Peter admitted, leaning back against Chris' chest. "But I'm… As selfish as I may be, I don't need him to be mine, I just need him to be back in my life."

"Not need, but want?" Chris asked, a small, teasing smile on his lips.

He nuzzled Peter's neck, the Alpha shuddering in his arms. "Of course."

Of course. Chris chuckled, relaxing against his husband. Of course.

/break\

Stiles was eager as they drove onto the farm. Giddy. Coming here, even though this was only the third time he was actually at the farm, felt like coming home. It shouldn't and the intensity of it was near scary to Stiles, but oh it did. Ever since Peter had kidnapped him to the farm for the first time, not a day had passed without him interacting with someone from the pack. They'd gotten his number, during their puppy pile after dinner, and they texted him daily. They put him into their pack group chat and Stiles tried not to see any implications in that.

Stiles' Sweets was beautiful, Kira's touch was all over the place and the food Boyd made was delicious and Erica, whenever not busy with a customer, would be so stupidly cute with Boyd. Her hair was shorter than it used to be, while Boyd actually had hair now, wearing it in chin-long twists, stubble dusting his strong jawline. They'd grown up. And they were happy. Not just with each other, though they were so clearly so deeply in love and Stiles just knew that Boyd was hiding an engagement ring somewhere, waiting for the perfect time, but they were also happy where they were. With their business, their pack, the place in their life.

And Kira! Kira had gained so much confidence, she loved her business so much and if possible, she had become even more badass. On Tuesday, Stiles, Kira and Lydia had taken out a ghoul together and it had felt exhilarating. For so long, he'd avoided all supernatural threats, fearing that it would just trigger him. But with his friends at his side? It was exciting.

He'd gone to the university library with Allison, Malia and Lydia and he might have fallen a little in love with that library. It was so big, so many books, urgh. Knowledge. He hadn't even realized how much he missed absorbing knowledge. He never stopped his research binges, but they were random, unfocused. This? This reminded him just how much he loved it, missed it.

Lydia, Erica, Cora and Allison were so busy planning Lydia and Jackson's wedding and they'd shown him all the folders and plans on Thursday. Her dress, the venue, the cake. Every little detail meticulously planned because of course it was, this was Lydia Martin's wedding, after all.

He'd started talking to Jackson. Three days after his first visit at the farm, Jackson had called him. For a bunch of minutes, they simply shared silence. Before Jackson started talking. About the kanima, what that had been like and oh. For the first time, Stiles could talk to someone who understood. At the very least understood what it was like to have your body controlled by someone else, used to murder innocent people. Something in his chest eased at that. They'd been texting daily about the kanima and the Nogitsune since then and over the course of a week, Stiles started to feel such a close kinship with Jackson in a way he never expected.

Isaac and Derek bullied him into helping them on the farm, during his second visit. But it was actually fun. The three of them played around and he got to see them both laugh freely in a way he never had seen back in Beacon Hills. It made him realize just how much things had changed.

The toughest were Chris and Peter though. They had taken Stiles out to lunch four times, to dinner twice. Never together though. They hadn't brought up their marriage yet either. And it was impossibly confusing, because every time he went out with one of them, it felt like a date. Maybe that was just his hopeful mind, clouded by old feelings that came back with a vengeance.

"You're going to love it, dad," Stiles grinned as him and his dad got out of their car.

John looked skeptical, even as he surveyed the farm. "It looks gorgeous."

The grin on Stiles' lips widened. The two of them headed for the main house and even before Stiles could knock, Isaac opened the door. The blonde puppy grinned and immediately went to nuzzle Stiles, scent-marking him. Stiles hadn't realized how much he missed the casual affections of pack, but he relished how affectionate the pack was with him. Isaac grabbed his hand and dragged him into the kitchen, where the dinner table was already set and half the pack was comfortable while the other half was working on dinner. Stiles barely got through the door before the pups lounging about got up to scent-mark him, Boyd and Jackson shoving each other to get Stiles first.

"Stop fighting," Stiles laughed. "There is enough Stiles to go around for everyone."

"We wouldn't have to fight over it if you would just live here and we could scent-mark you every day," Malia growled displeased, rubbing her chin against his.

Stiles stilled between them, even more so when Peter growled low in warning at his daughter. Stiles didn't know what that meant. He really tried not reading anything negative into that growl, like Peter not wanting him in the pack. Thankfully, his dad noticed the tension and cleared his throat.

"My son's not the only guest you're having, you know."

"Sheriff," Chris forced a polite smile, reaching a hand out.

"Not the sheriff anymore," a thin smile on his dad's lips. "Mister Argent."

"Chris," Chris corrected. "First names, if you don't mind? Noah."

"John," his dad corrected bemused. "I got… very used to the name over the past years."

"John," Chris nodded, shaking hands with John. "Welcome to our home."

Stiles let himself be pulled down onto Jackson's lap, the former kanima resting his chin on Stiles' shoulder. If someone had told him five years ago, he would ever willingly sit on Jackson Whittemore's lap – well, okay actually he would have on account of his giant bisexual crush on the jerk, but still, the point stood. He grinned as he leaned against Jackson and reached out to run a hand over Cora's arm, scent-marking the youngest Hale.

"I made apple crumble for desert," Boyd noted. "You said you liked that when you were at the café earlier this week and we just harvested fresh apples yesterday."

Stiles perked up delighted. "Erica, you need to lock that down or else I will propose to him."

Boyd flustered and laughed. Hah. Stiles just knew the big guy was hiding an engagement ring somewhere. If he got a chance, he would be snooping around the house to find it. He smiled softly as he relaxed into the pack. It was so easy to feel comfortable and at home with them.

/break\

John heaved a deep sigh, his hands wrapped around his mug of coffee. He'd been up since five AM even though it was a Saturday and his day off. However, yesterday was still laying heavy in his stomach. Seeing Stiles with the Hale Pack was the first time in years – even before they'd left Beacon Hills – that he saw his son genuinely happy. Smiling in a way that lit up his eyes. The ease with which Stiles interacted with them too, the casual touches and caresses and straight up cuddling. He sat in Jackson Whittemore's lap for ten minutes before dinner and spent dinner pressed up against Derek Hale. After dinner, when everyone went to the living room for the apple crumble (the best damn apple crumble John had ever eaten in his life), Stiles had practically been passed around between the pack, the spots to his left and right changing people every five minutes. By the time the night ended, Stiles was on the floor in front of the couch, Peter and Chris on either side of him, their legs pressing up against his arms and he looked so content.

"Da—ad," Stiles drawled the word out when he entered the kitchen. "Is something wrong?"

"Sit down, son," John motioned at the other chair. "I think we need to talk."

They only had two chairs in their kitchen, because there was never another person. Stiles hadn't made friends since they got here, much less shown romantic interest in anyone. It had been just the two of them for too long now and yesterday had reminded him that it shouldn't be that way.

"What's wrong?" Stiles asked, looking tense now.

"Malia spoke about wanting to keep you at the farm yesterday," John spoke slowly. "I saw the look on your face, even while you were trying to hide it from them. That was… pure longing. You wanna live with them, don't you? I haven't seen you this happy in far too long."

"I…" Stiles wavered slightly. "I don't know. To be honest, I'm just… really overwhelmed by it all. I spent too long thinking that at least half them actively hated me. I didn't think I would ever see any of them again. I'm still… I'm still working my way through that? Learning to accept that they do want me in their lives, that they don't blame me for what the Nogitsune did?"

John's face twisted and he refrained from commenting on that. He'd spent too long trying to reassure his boy that it wasn't his fault, but Stiles accused him of parental bias. Maybe they could convince him. Hopefully they could convince him.

"Tell me what you're thinking, then," John prompted.

"I need more time," Stiles' eyes were sharp, thoughtful. "I… I think I do want to… I love the farm already, I love being with them. But I need more time with some distance to actually deal with this and with all these… feelings that they've stirred me. All the guilt and pain and… and love. Yeah. I can't deal with that if I were already living with them, but… I do think that's where it's headed."

"Okay," John nodded. "You'll tell me, when you realize you're ready?"

"Yeah," Stiles offered a small smile.

"Can we talk about the two middle-aged men you kept gravitating toward?"

Stiles stilled, looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights. "I don't know what you mean, I have been gravitating toward everyone equally yesterday, I literally sat in Jackson's lap and in Malia's and I was laying draped over Cora and Isaac."

"Mhmh," John pursed his lips, crossing his arms and leaning back. "None of them made you blush though. When you were sitting between Peter and Chris though, you looked… serene. And you did tell me about your feelings on them, don't think I forgot."

The past two years had brought them so close, they'd shared things with each other they may never have shared back in Beacon Hills. At one point, Stiles had opened up about his sexuality, about being bisexual, about how his dad's dismissal all those years ago had hurt him, about his feelings for Peter Hale and Chris Argent. Stiles had promised his dad that nothing had ever happened with either of the men, but that he had had feelings for them both. That Peter leaving had broken his heart and that Chris leaving had broken his heart all over again. That was the important part, the part he'd wanted to share with his dad. Loss, but in a different way.

"They're married," Stiles pointed out, looking at the table. "To each other."

"That's not an answer to my question," John pointed out, eyebrows raised.

"But it is," Stiles shrugged, raising his eyes to meet John's. "They're married to each other, I don't know, maybe if I had run into just Peter and the Hales, I would have… I might have tried my luck? I mean, I'm twenty, I'm a legal adult very much capable of making my own decisions. But Peter and Chris are married, so there's nothing there to pursue. I'm not a home-wrecker, dad."

"Would never accuse you of that, kiddo," John chuckled, shaking his head. "Forget it."

He wasn't going to push, not if Stiles couldn't see it himself. His son said he needed to digest all the feelings and memories that this had stirred in him, so John didn't want to rush Stiles. His boy was clever, sooner or later Stiles was going to notice the way Chris and Peter looked at him.

/break\

Tension in the Hale Pack was growing with every passing day. Peter was acutely aware of that, as the Alpha, but he also knew there was nothing he could do (regardless of how often Malia suggested to just keep Stiles). The betas kept seeking out Stiles more and more.

"You can not walk in there without an appointment, Mister Hale is very busy-"

Peter raised an eyebrow at the high voice of his new secretary. The door to his office opened and Stiles walked in like he owned the place, followed by said new secretary.

"It's fine, he can stay," Peter dismissed her. "Hello, Stiles."

Stiles grinned broadly and walked over to the desk, even as the secretary huffed and closed the door. Part of Peter had wanted to hire Stiles, just to have the boy close. The other part of him knew that he couldn't employ Stiles, that wasn't going to work out for him. Too distracting.

The boy climbed onto the desk, sitting there like it was the most natural thing in the world, his feet on Peter's chair, on either side of his lap, his knees temptingly apart. Peter raised an eyebrow at the cheeky Spark, but he wasn't one to miss an opportunity. He leaned forward, crossing his arms on Stiles' thighs, getting comfortable, hands resting on those tempting thighs.

"What can I do for you, Bambi?" Peter asked, looking up into those big doe-eyes.

"You can reign your puppies in," Stiles frowned, looking actually annoyed. "I am about one puppy away from losing my job. I like hanging out with the pack, breakfast, lunch dinner, meeting the girls on campus, going shopping, what have you. But lately, they've been loitering around at my place of employment. And that would be fine, if they were just there, eating and spending time there. But they keep trying to talk to me and my boss really doesn't like that while I'm on the clock. So. I need you to Alpha up and reign your puppies in before I lose my job."

Peter frowned displeased at that. "I will talk to them. But I can't make promises."

"You're the Alpha," Stiles snorted, motioning at Peter. "Do the sexy red eyes flashing and a bit of growling and tell them to stop costing me my job! My dad and I kinda need the money to afford the apartment, you know. Living in London is fucking expensive."

"You find the Alpha eyes sexy?" Peter raised one eyebrow, smirking immensely pleased.

A blush spread over Stiles' cheeks in a tantalizing manner while the boy rolled his eyes. "Not the point. You're the Alpha. Be a proper Alpha and make sure your pack behaves."

The leisure touch on Stiles' thighs tightened, squeezing just a little. Peter was startled by the moan it earned him, making him stare up at the Spark in stunned silence.

"I have sensitive inner thighs so if you could not squeeze them," Stiles muttered embarrassed.

Peter blinked at him, eyes red, but he removed his hands from Stiles. "I apologize."

He swallowed hard, the sweet, intoxicating scent of Stiles' arousal heavy in the air, especially considering Peter's place between Stiles' knees. Clearing his throat, Peter pushed his chair off and got up. Putting some physical distance between himself and Stiles.

"I can try to talk to them, but you must realize that even I can't make them go against their instincts," Peter raised his eyebrows at Stiles. "The entire pack lives together, spends their time in our shared space that smells like all of us. They only get to see you every other day. Their instincts don't like that, don't like not knowing where you are and if you're safe. You also keep gathering smells of other people, other places, and they get to scent you too infrequently for their liking."

He could hear the jump of Stiles' heartbeat. Peter stood beside his large bookshelf, watching his boy. Stiles furrowed his brows and drew his legs up, now sitting cross-legged on the desk. Still acting like he owned the damn place and it should not please Peter that much.

"So it's time we have this conversation, huh," Stiles whispered to himself.

He was fidgeting with his fingers and then looking at Peter. Expectantly. Peter raised an eyebrow.

"What conversation are we talking about here, Stiles?"

Stiles tilted his head. "The one you promised we'd have at my graduation."

It was Peter's turn to feel his heart jump in his chest. "Are you sure? I don't want you to feel pressured into it by my pack being… pushy."

A small smile spread over Stiles' lips and he shook his head. "I wanted to have this conversation since before I left Beacon Hills. I… did need some time, to myself, after I ran into you. But it's been a couple weeks now and I've talked things through with my therapist. I feel more… settled."

That made Peter nod slowly. "Stiles, I want you to be a part of my pack. Will you join?"

The way Stiles was beaming at him nearly took Peter's breath away and then the Spark bared his neck to him. "Yes, Alpha. I want to join your pack."

Peter was on him in less than a second, sinking blunt human teeth into that pale neck, biting him. Claiming him as Hale Pack. Peter breathed out hard through his nose as he felt the pack-bond with Stiles snap into place. It was so bright and so warm and a beautiful turquoise color.

"Fuck," Stiles gasped, collapsing forward against Peter, clinging onto him. "Holy shit."

"It's okay," Peter wrapped his arms around Stiles. "Just breath. I know it can be overwhelming."

To Peter, the one new pack-bond was intense, but for Stiles? Twelve new pack-bonds were either snapping into place or reigniting where they had been severed before. Stiles started shaking in his arms, sobbing into his chest. Peter gently caressed his back until the Spark calmed down some.

"I missed them," Stiles' breathing was still labored. "Derek and Boyd and Erica, it's been so long. Isaac and Allison and Lydia and Malia and Kira, I… I missed them… I missed them, I was so cold, Peter, I didn't realize it was because I was missing this warmth, I didn't…"

Stiles continued babbling on and Peter simply held him, kissing the top of his head. It took Stiles nearly half an hour to properly calm down and Peter had to send his new secretary away with a withering glare at one point, his appointments be damned. His new pack-mate was more important.

"That… was fucking intense," Stiles tilted his head, resting his cheek against Peter's chest.

"You know that you and your father wouldn't have to worry about the money for your apartment if you were to move to the farm," Peter offered after a moment. "Pack takes care of pack."

"My dad too?" Stiles looked up at Peter, unsure.

"Your father is more than welcome to be a part of this pack, if he wants to be, and to live at the den. Why don't you go and talk to him about this and then tell me what you decide, mh? Though… do expect to be smothered by the betas most likely as soon as you step out of this office."

"Oh yeah, I am bracing for that," Stiles snorted amused, rubbing at his chest. "I can… feel their excitement. Good thing I don't have any plans for the rest of the day."

/break\

Chris was in the orchards when Stiles found him, a day after the boy had joined the pack. The pack-bond had hit Chris like a brick-wall, to be able to feel Stiles in his soul was more overwhelming than with any of the betas. Peter had been so ecstatic when he got home last night, kissing Chris until the former hunter was breathless and then Peter started talking about sensitive thighs and things escalated into much more than just kissing.

"Can we talk, Chris?" Stiles asked when he approached the former hunter.

"Sure," Chris grunted, putting his crate down and turning toward the house.

Stiles grabbed his upper arm, shaking his head. "Not… where the nosy puppies are. C'mon."

Raising one eyebrow, Chris let Stiles lead him deeper into the apple orchard. Along the way, Stiles stole an apple from a branch, throwing it a couple times before taking a bite. Chris wondered what this was going to be about. Peter said that Stiles and his dad were going to talk about moving to the farm, but this wasn't something Stiles would share only with Chris, was it?

"I don't know how to do this in a non-awkward way, so…"

Stiles trailed off and then grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it off over his head. Chris froze, his brain going into all kind of dirty directions of pinning Stiles against the nearest tree and doing all the things him and Peter whispered about in their bed at night. And then his eyes landed on Stiles' chest, on the tattoo over the boy's heart. An arrow-head, and above and beneath it, We protect those who cannot protect themselves. Chris didn't know what to do with that, aside from being oddly turned on by seeing his family motto and a representation of himself on Stiles' chest.

"Ye—eah," Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly, scratching his neck. "I felt like we should talk about this first, before I move to the farm and it comes up unexpectedly because I'm eating breakfast in my boxers and you walk in. I, uh… I got it, after we left Beacon Hills. As a reminder of Allison, of… killing her. Sacrificing for her. Maybe partially to punish myself, but also to remind me of what I had overcome. But I realize it's… I figured you should know."

Chris swallowed hard, nodding. This was going to haunt him for months to come. He wanted to lick it. He needed to show it to Peter, oh this was going to drive the Alpha wild with jealousy. Thinking about it, Chris could imagine Peter taking a sharpie to Stiles to draw the triskele on him. The thought inexplicably made Chris laugh out loud, startling Stiles.

"Okay, not the reaction I was expecting," Stiles raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry," Chris chuckled and shook his head. "I just imagined Peter's reaction."

"Well, considering it made you laugh, I am hopeful it won't include him possessively ripping my throat out for having his husband's family motto on my chest," Stiles quipped.

Chris sobered up a little bit, clearing his throat. "No, it's more likely to make him use a sharpie and draw the triskele on you to make it even. He's a bit possessive."

Confusion passed over Stiles' face. "Yeah, hence the ripping throat out?"

"Of you," Chris corrected with gentle eyes. "He's a bit possessive of you, Stiles. Always has been."

"W… What," Stiles stared at him with those pretty, large doe-eyes.

"Damn, Peter's right you really are Bambi," Chris muttered beneath his breath. "Listen, you just said you want to move to the farm. And I think that there is something that you deserve to know before you move into a house with me and Peter. We have both been in love with you… longer than we've been in love with each other. I know you've been wondering on how we got together and we've so far ignored your curiosity, but you should know before you move in with us. We got together over our shared grief for you, because we were both in love with you. Still are."

Stiles stared up at him with even wider eyes – how was that physically possible? Even without being a werewolf, Chris could tell that Stiles' heart was doing overtime. He offered the boy a small, albeit sad smile before he took a step back, away from Stiles.

"I'll get back to my work. I didn't mean to overwhelm you," Chris offered softly. "I just wanted you to know, so you can make an informed decision. If this makes you uncomfortable, you and your father would still be pack even if you don't live at the farm with us, Stiles. All we want is have you in our life, that would be enough for us. Both of us."

/break\

"I just fucking froze," Stiles groaned, tilting his head back. "He told me that him and Peter were in love with me and I just froze and gaped at him like a stupid fish, dad! Ouch!"

John grunted, an amused look on his face. "I still think that this is an extreme reaction, son."

Stiles turned to throw his dad a deep glare. "You know me! I work in extremes. Ouch."

Another grunt and a shake of his head. John did appreciate that his boy trusted him and confided in him. That he'd decided to take John with him here. Though then John had been there for each one. He reached out for Stiles' hand, taking it. Running his thumb over the tattoo on his wrist.

"And you're really okay with it?" Stiles asked in a small voice. "All of it, I mean? Living with them, both of us living with them, and me… maybe… being with them? You're okay with it?"

"Stiles," John heaved a sigh. "I love you, kiddo. With all my heart. All I want is for you to be happy. And ever since they got back into your life, you have been… so much brighter than in years. If they can make you happy, I will not judge. But if they ever hurt you, I will hunt them down."

A broad grin spread over Stiles' lips as he looked at his dad. "I wouldn't expect any less."

/break\

Stiles was giddy and excited and nervous when he carried a box of his belongings into the farm house. The rest of his pack – his pack – was carrying the rest of his and his dad's stuff inside. While they were laughing among themselves, talking and busy with their task at hand, Stiles wandered upstairs in search of their Alphas. He might have been impulsive, after Chris' confession yesterday, but he'd been in love with them for so many years. He hadn't spoken to Chris and Peter yet, too busy packing the last of their belongings and also getting his surprise done. They let the lease run out, it didn't even matter to them, they could finally leave their apartment behind and move into a real home, filled with warmth and family and pack. And with the men Stiles loved.

He—ey," Stiles knocked on the master bedroom and then entered. "You guys hiding from me?"

"Well," Peter cleared his throat. "Christopher told me about your conversation and we… didn't want to pressure you into an answer of any kind. We're just glad you're here."

"Honestly, I didn't know what to say yesterday," Stiles admitted, flustered. "I've been dreaming about that for so long, it felt too unreal when it happened – unreal in a good way. I've been… I've been in love with you two for so stupidly long. Oh and, uhm, Chris gave me an idea yesterday and you know me, I am impulsive and all of that, but it felt fitting even in a broader sense I mean I am now Hale Pack, after all, so I got this and I hope that's not too weird but-"

He grabbed the hem of his shirt to lift it up enough to show the triskele set over his hip-bone. The growl from Peter was darker, louder and more primal than anything he'd ever heard before. It startled Stiles so much, he jumped a little. The next second, he was pinned against the closed bedroom door, the Alpha all up in his face, fangs and red eyes and all.

"You can't just put an Alpha's symbol on you like that," Peter growled. "You have no idea-"

"I do," Stiles held Peter's gaze, grinning a little. "Did you not hear the part where I said that I'm stupidly in love with you guys? I mean it. And I know."

Peter rested a shaky hand over the see-through film on top of the still very fresh and raw tattoo. Peter's claws were out too and it shouldn't thrill him that much. Stiles tilted his head to the side, a broad, cheeky grin on his lips. The Alpha buried his nose in it, inhaling deeply. Peter pressed a hungry kiss to Stiles' lips, leaving the boy breathless. Stiles' hands pawed at Peter's chest near desperately, his cheeks flushed when they parted.

"Peter," Chris growled annoyed. "Learn to share."

With a grumbling noise did Peter step aside enough to allow Chris to also crowd Stiles against the door and damn yeah, Stiles was definitely into getting cornered by them and stuck between them, this was fun. He rested one hand on each of their chests while Chris kissed him hungrily.

"Stiles," Derek called out from upstairs. "Where the hell are you. We got your stuff."

A shit-eating grin spread over Stiles' lips. "Just bring it to the master-bedroom."

Both Peter and Chris gave him surprised but hungry and pleased looks at that. Stiles grinned broadly, leaning against the door as the feeling of being home fully settled in, here, in their arms.

~*~ The End ~*~

#Stetopher #Stiles Stilinski #Peter Hale #Chris Argent #Teen Wolf #Stiles Summer Stories 2024 #Phoe's Fics #Fanfiction

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