#i wonder if i will say some weird shit to my uncle while high & drowsy from morphine

[queerbeverage]

[cywscross]

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4 | Pt.5 | Pt.6 | Pt.7

Lookee what my brain coughed up~~

Peter stays the night again. The man cooks for the two of them, Stiles finishes his homework, Peter uses his shower and poaches more of Stiles’ clothes, and they end up in the fort again, knees and arms knocking together, blankets piled on top of them.

“Should we be expecting your father tonight?”  Peter enquires idly, not sounding like he cares much either way.

“Mm, no, he’s working on a case out of town.”  It’s instinct to check his phone, but there’s no text message waiting for him, and that’s to be expected too.  He sends one off to Scott though, just to check in, just to ask how he’s doing after everything that went down.  He doesn’t get a reply this time either, which doesn’t surprise him one bit.

He tosses the device aside and sighs before pulling his laptop over.  “Wanna watch a movie?”

He feels more than sees Peter shrug, so Stiles goes about setting up Tangled.  He wants fun and light-hearted, and if Peter doesn’t, the werewolf can deal.

Peter mostly just seems entertained though, and interested because oh yeah, coma equals six years of missed media.  Amongst other things.

So they watch Rapunzel venture out into the world and beat people up with her frying pan and defy her mother and finally get her happily ever after, and it’s a nice distraction from the death and destruction here in good old Beacon Hills.  After that, he goes further back and puts on Enchanted.  Stiles has a soft spot for musicals, so sue him, and he refuses to be embarrassed by it even when Peter slants an amused look at him.

As it turns out, Peter doesn’t mind a bit of singing and dancing either, especially when the movie gives such a unique twist to the classic fairy tale, combining live-action and animation together.  Still, he must’ve been more tired than Stiles thought because by the time everyone gets their happily ever after in this one (except the bad guy, obviously), Peter’s dozed off, still sitting but slumped against the wall behind them.

The movie ends, everything goes silent, and Stiles just sits there for a while, watching Peter sleep. Then he sighs, powers down his laptop, and sets about getting ready for bed.  It takes two trips out of the fort because he forgets to line all the windows and doors in the house with the bag of mountain ash under his bed, at least for the night.  He doesn’t feel like dealing with any werewolves who might swing by and break into his house just because they can.  Granted, it isn’t likely.  Scott’s (getting) busy with other people, Boyd and Erica have run off to god knows where, if Isaac shows up, Stiles might actually strangle him with his scarf, and he hasn’t even seen Derek since that night with the kanima and Gerard.  But just in case, Stiles does it anyway.  If any of them do show up, it’ll be because they’ll want him to do something for them, and helpful is about the last thing he feels like being right now.

Peter’s the exception only because the dude’s already inside, and it would be a hassle to shove him back out the window.  Besides, it’s pretty clear the werewolf doesn’t want anything from him aside from a place to bunk, and even if he does, Stiles figures Peter’s allowed to at least ask, if only because he’s cooked for Stiles and even taken his pain a few times.

Although admittedly, the former was still on Stiles’ dime.  But not even Peter Hale can produce money out of thin air, or he wouldn’t even be in Stiles’ house right now.  He came though, to check on Stiles.  Which, pathetically enough, is more than anyone else has done.

What exactly does it say about Stiles that the only one who cared enough about him to come at all is the formerly dead former psycho on a former vengeance bender?

Probably nothing good. Best not to think about it then.  And the pain-drawing thing is true enough.  He’s done that pretty regularly as Stiles’ injuries heal at glacial speeds.

He crawls back into the fort and starts prodding Peter into something more horizontal.  Blue eyes flicker open, hazy to sharp in about 0.5 seconds, but they go drowsy again when they recognize Stiles, and Peter doesn’t do anything to stop him from piling a couple blankets on top of him.

It only takes another minute for Stiles to get comfortable himself, and another few minutes for sleep to creep up on him.  He doesn’t even open his eyes when he feels the bedding shift and the warm line of a body press against his own.

The rest of the week goes about the same.  Peter camps out in Stiles’ bedroom, cooks him meals, and spends the hours between nine and three probably apartment hunting and doing other hopefully not too illegal things.  Stiles goes to school, sits through his classes, and doesn’t bother eating in the cafeteria anymore because it makes him feel like he’s trying too hard to get Scott’s attention, and that’s just pathetic.  Downside, he hasn’t been this alone at school since junior high when Scott transferred in and Jackson stole his inhaler so Stiles tripped him down the stairs.  But on the other hand, every other hour that he isn’t in school means he’s with Peter, and Peter… somehow, Peter makes it very hard to feel lonely, even if they’re not doing anything except sitting side by side and working on their own thing.

By the weekend, Peter’s found a place, a small apartment building on the corner of Wisteria and Clove, near the edge of town.  The paint is faded, the floorboards creak, but the place seems sturdy enough, if a bit shabby and actually not at all what Stiles would picture Peter choosing to live in. It isn’t smack in the middle of downtown either so there doesn’t seem to be many tenants.  Still, even though Peter’s the one who suggests giving Stiles the grand thirty-second tour of the single bedroom, bathroom, and sitting room and attached kitchenette in the first place, a defiant, defensive slant remains in his shoulders the entire time, and he watches Stiles like he thinks Stiles might laugh at him or something.

The mighty ex-Alpha brought low.  Stiles wonders if Derek would taunt him about it.  He’d like to think no, ’cause that’s just kicking someone when they’re already down, and… yeah okay, Stiles is exactly the type to do that if the person is high enough on his shit list, but he’d never do it to his dad no matter how… absent the man is from his life or how much he drinks, or even his mom, no matter how many times she hit him, or even Scott, even though Stiles doesn’t know where they stand these days.  And he won’t do it to Peter.

Peter’s family to Derek though, no matter how much history there is between them, and yet Peter seems used to expecting the worst from those around him.

Of course, then Stiles remembers Derek ripping Peter’s throat out without a beat of hesitation just a month ago, remembers him leaving his crippled uncle behind all those years ago, remembers each and every one of his own interactions with Derek and how Derek’s go-to methods were always to threaten or insult or use violence to get Stiles to do what he wanted or even just to tear him down for whatever reason.  He even remembers the tiny smirk on Derek’s face as he stood by and watched Erica mock Stiles like he thought it was funny.

Right.   Never mind.  Christ.  No wonder Peter killed Laura.  Leaving him to rot was enough of a crime.

Stiles’ absolute favourite part of the tour is the collection of furniture Peter’s amassed. There isn’t much, and it’s not overly expensive stuff, but what the werewolf has somehow managed to get his hands on are new and elegant and moveable, and if he turns all of it over and throws a couple sheets over it, the resulting fort would be almost as spacious as the sitting room.

“I love it,” He announces before he can stop himself, already eyeing the furniture greedily.

Peter blinks, follows Stiles’ line of sight, and then his shoulders finally relax, as if Stiles has passed some sort of test.  He even huffs a laugh and overall looks pretty happy for someone whose guest is more excited about building furniture forts in their home than complimenting the decor.  Then again, Stiles is sort of doing that.

“I thought you might,” Peter smirks.  “Feel free to do some… rearranging anytime you want.”

Stiles gapes at him a bit because he didn’t actually think Peter would- “Wait, you’re gonna let me build-”

He cuts himself and flushes a bit.  Saying furniture forts out loud makes him sound a lot more childish than he’d like.

But Peter just shrugs. “You’re welcome to it.  It isn’t as if I need to sit down to watch the evening news, Stiles.  I don’t even have a TV, and I’m not planning on getting one.”

“…Oh.”  Stiles pauses, uncertain of what else to say.  Thanking the man for something like this just feels plain awkward.

“On one condition of course,” Peter continues, all smug cheer again.  “I get free entry and sleeping space in there.”

Stiles sort of just stares, because for an adult, Peter is so weird.  Only his mom ever called Stiles creative when he upended the house’s furniture, and she was sort of obligated to, being Mom and all.  Dad always called it a mess, exasperatedly amused at first, then just… long-suffering at times, annoyed at others, and forever confused over why his son never seemed to grow out of this phase even as he got older.

“…Well,” Stiles flaps his hand in the vague direction of everywhere.  “It is your place.  So yeah.  But don’t you want to sleep on a bed?”

“I don’t have a bed,” Peter points out, because yeah, Stiles did notice that, but he just thought Peter hadn’t gotten around to buying that yet.  But the werewolf only glances thoughtfully at the sitting room.  “And I don’t think I’ll buy one.  Who needs a bed anyway when I have my own personal professional fort designer?”

Stiles’ ears go pink. Peter grins but it lacks bite despite the teasing.  Stiles rolls his eyes at him.

“I’ll bring my spare blankets over then,” He offers.  So you won’t have to buy any, he doesn’t say. He thinks about the text he got today from Jenna.  “Dad’s case is wrapping up and he’ll be returning sometime late tomorrow anyway so I have to clean the house before he gets back.  Actually, we can do it now.  I mean I guess it’ll look kinda weird since neither of us has a working vehicle but we can just stuff them in bags and carry them over here.  You’re a werewolf anyway so it’s not like it’ll be too heavy for you.”

Peter arches an eyebrow and looks like he wants to say something sarcastic.  But he restrains himself and just nods.  “We can straighten up your house first.”

Stiles blinks at that, startled, but Peter’s already heading for the door.  He hurries after the werewolf, tripping over the doorstep and almost doing a faceplant before Peter catches him by his good shoulder and hauls him back up without missing a beat.

He didn’t actually mean for Peter to help him with the cleaning, but he can’t complain either.  It’s always just been his job though, household chores, for almost as long as he can remember.  Nobody’s ever given him a hand before, even in the early days when he was messing up the laundry and burning the food and his fingers.  It’s weird that Peter’s willing to help.  Peter is just… weird.  So weird.

He gives himself a hard mental shake and shunts it all aside.  Whatever. Four hands make faster work than two anyway.

Peter stays one more night at the Stilinski home, and they end up hauling the blankets over to the man’s new apartment in the morning instead, and then Stiles just goes to town on pushing furniture together with all the glee of a five-year-old on a sugar high.  Peter sits at the kitchen counter, half his attention on whatever he’s doing on his laptop, the other half on Stiles, a fond quirk playing at his lips that Stiles pointedly does not look too deeply into.

Noon comes around, and Peter cooks them lunch.  Then they both hole up in the fort with part of the blanket-ceiling pulled back to let the sunlight and breeze filter in through the open window.

It’s four in the afternoon before Stiles finally gets up to leave.  Peter sees him to the door, expression indecipherable, but he reaches out to cup a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck for a last pain extraction before they say their goodbyes.  Stiles wants to ask when (if?) he can come back, and when would be a good time, but in the end, the words get stuck in his throat, and he scarpers without voicing his questions.

He’s back in his bedroom and shucking his sweater before he realizes there’s an extra key on his keyring.

He’s still smiling when his dad walks in through the door.