#the same way other people have romance brain i have aromantic brain and HAHAHA that's okay

[bittersweetresilience]

the brainrot has advanced... i've applied the aro beam

[tnffc]

HAHaha... When you sleep, if your soulmate is awake you can see what they're doing.

Hoh…boy, okay ^^

This got angsty but I hope you like it:

____________

Everybody has a soulmate.

That was the lie people told each other.

Why did most people believe that? Because they knew it was true for them.

They dreamed of their soulmates. They dreamed what they were doing when they were awake while they were asleep.

There were many theories on how that ability developed, though there was no consensus on it as far as Peter knew. The most popular idea was, you started seeing what your soulmate did at the same time you started developing interest in romantic relationships.

That was why many first dreamed of their soulmates when they were teenagers, aged between 13 and 16 usually.

How did Peter know that whole shebang was absolute bullshit?

He was almost twenty, definitely romantically interested and had yet to dream of anybody.

When he had been a teenager he had anticipated the day he would finally dream of his soulmate. He had loved the idea of person meant for him, someone he wouldn’t have to worry might not like him. He knew he was difficult, too smart, too snarky, too arrogant sometimes. He knew people avoided him because he could have an unsettling aura. His sister and older niece had told him often enough. Luckily Derek didn’t seem to care.

He loved him for it.

But he was pack, Peter was yearning for someone who would truly understand him and appreciate him. Who might be able to do that, if not a soulmate?

Well time had passed, years of not dreaming of anybody. Some nights he had strange dreams he suspected might be something but they never were, they were just regular dreams, maybe a bit of wishful thinking as well.

When he was asked what he dreamed about, what his soulmate was like he stayed quiet or said he felt that was a private matter.

He didn’t really have many friends at that age so it wasn’t like anybody cared.

And there was no fooling his sister. She was his alpha and when she demanded information he could not deny her. So she knew, and she wasn’t necessarily careful with that information, so the pack, family and other acquainted werewolves knew too.

He was either teased for not being ready for romance or pitied because something had to be wrong with him.

It sucked.

Right up until he was about to turn eighteen and realized maybe it wasn’t that something was wrong with him but with the phenomenon of soulmates and how it had been documented.

He started researching and found a lot of supporting evidence.

There were many people - well some - who did not dream of anybody. Most seemed to identify as aromantics but that didn’t bother him. He finally found people who understood the dilemma, understood the stigma, who felt for him.

He even made friends.

Educating himself on the topic helped him find new perspective.

While he could only guess why there was apparently no soulmate for him, at least he could free himself from the oppressive societal structures surrounding soulmates.

He started going out, started engaging with people without worrying, wondering. He knew he was unbound and while that might hurt sometimes it also freed him.

Because there was no perfect person to love and accept him he had to find people for himself.

And while he was still a difficult person he learned that didn’t mean people weren’t interested in spending time with him if he made an effort.

~*~

Now, at almost twenty he was studying philosophy at the local college, had a nice group of friends and acquaintances and knew soulmates were just another lie people liked to believe in.

So he didn’t think much of it when he woke up one morning with the memory of one of the strangest dreams of his life.

He was lying in a huge room, it was dark except for light coming from somewhere he couldn’t see, illuminating some strange shapes above his head. Looking to the right and the left, his movements uncoordinated as if he was drugged or hexed he could see thick bars surrounding him like some sort of prison. He didn’t like that, not at all, he felt scared and alone and decided to try and change that, so he screamed, for someone, something.

And something did change. Another light appeared, it was warmer than the other and then a creature, huge and strangely shaped, almost human but not quite was above him, making incomprehensible but soothing noises at him while showing it’s large, terrifying teeth that probably could easily have taken off Peter’s entire arm…

He had woken up.

Confused about the fucked up nightmare but otherwise unconcerned.

It had been rather early though and he didn’t think he could go back to sleep so instead he got dressed and decided to go for a relaxed morning run.

The rest of his day was uneventful.

But the next night he had a very similar dream.

This time it woke him in the actual middle of the night and he had had to scream for much longer without the creature with the soothing noises coming in.

The rest of the night he tried to get back to sleep but felt restless and incapable to really get some decent shuteye.

Chris, who was something like his best friend actually mentioned how tired he looked.

Peter did not appreciate that but also didn’t feel like mentioning his weird dream.

At least not while Chris’ soulmate Victoria was sitting next to them. He didn’t particularly like her and definitely didn’t trust her.

It wasn’t like it was very smart to trust Chris either, being the heir of a hunter dynasty and all, but Peter knew the guy wasn’t as wild to kill werewolves as the rest of his people.

His heritage was actually a huge part why Peter had befriended him. Being his sister’s left hand meant he had to deal with threats. And befriending the future head of the Argents was a lot easier than constantly fighting them. It might actually be the base for a truce in the future if he played the cards right.

That night he dreamed of the room with the cage like confinement again and the feeling of loneliness and distress overcame him again, he screamed and screamed again. The only difference was the creature coming for him.

This time it looked different, with a different shape, bigger, bulkier, scarier. It’s voice was deep and vibrated through Peter’s body in a way that should have been terrifying. Especially when the creature just picked him up and wrapped him with it’s body, continuously making those noises, it’s body against Peter’s face vibrating as well.

But he felt soothed again, strangely enough.

He woke up again and looked at the clock.

It was barely 3am but he knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.

~*~

This was getting annoying and he had to find out what was going on. Those dreams had to mean something. He probably should pay Deaton a visit and ask him if he knew what might be wrong with him. Not an idea he had much love for, Deaton was one of the most irritating people Peter had to deal with, but he was the family emissary after all.

That day when he was having lunch with Chris and Victoria again he actually was so tired he dozed off, leaning against the tree they were sitting under.

He was in a different room. It was bright, with happy colors and a huge surface with vegetables on it. Those vegetables looked huge compared to what Peter was used to though.

He waved his arms around, just as uncoordinated as he had moved the other times. He was in another kind of confinement though, wood and plastic that held him snuggly around the waist.

He looked at his own hand.

It was misshapen, with a big palm and short, stubby fingers, it looked swollen but didn’t hurt, it looked almost the same as the chubby little hands and fingers of his niece Cora…

Peter breathed in sharply and started hyperventilating as his eyes flew open.

His heart was pounding hard in his chest and he felt like he couldn’t breath, everything felt blurry and there was a ringing noise in his ears.

He felt hands and heard someone’s voice but couldn’t focus.

All that was burned in his brain was one thought: His soulmate was still a baby.

Every time he felt like he was remotely calming down a new wave of panic swept him away until he finally lost consciousness when someone gave him an injection with supernatural tranquilizers.

~*~

He woke up in a hospital bed.

His sister was sitting at his bed, Chris was standing next to her.

Victoria wasn’t there and he appreciated that.

Talia reached out for his hand and cleared her throat.

“Hi…” her voice was unusually soft, she was a very resolute person for the most part. Loving in her own way, but not very gentle usually.

“The doctor said you had an intense panic attack. The guy in the ambulance sedated you because he was scared you might wolf out.”

Chris cleared his throat “I tried to tell him you wouldn’t but…but like your sister said, he was scared.”

Peter nodded. He didn’t like the way some people treated werewolves but that was the least of his problems right now.

His sister squeezed his hand a bit.

“Do you have any idea what caused the panic attack?”

He stared at his hand in hers and then at the ceiling. He nodded and felt a flashback to the moment he had realized it.

It all made sense. The strange proportions, the difficulty to understand anything but emphatically catch on what was communicated, the need based thinking, the uncoordinated movements.

He sighed deeply, aware his sister and friend waited for an answer.

“I had strange dreams for the last few days…this afternoon I realized…”

He swallowed, hard, trying to force the words out.

This didn’t mean he did something wrong, it didn’t mean he was destined to do something wrong. It just meant it might take at least two more decades for him to ever be able to even consider finding out who his soulmate was. Because he sure didn’t want to know them as a child or see them grow up. That’d be just so weird.

“What is it?”

Talia looked confused, concerned, she was probably going through all the possible things that could have caused such an intense reaction.

He took a deep breath and released it, shaking a little before licking his dry lips to find the words again.

“I realized I was dreaming of my soulmate. Who happens to still be an…an infant.”

He had almost choked on the last word and stared at the ceiling again.

The terror of the idea was wearing off and what was left was anger. He was so angry at the universe for fucking with him like that.

Talia and Chris didn’t say anything but eventually Talia actually hugged him and he knew that was what he had needed. Someone to confirm he wasn’t a monster for being destined to a child.

For the next three days he refused to sleep while Deaton was trying to figure out a way to block the transmission of their bond. Deaton, Talia and Chris had tried reasoning with him, tried to make him reconsider this action.

He had not yielded one bit. The idea to see someone he was supposed to fall in love with and maybe even desire physically at some point grow up from baby age to kindergarten, preschool and beyond was horrific. He did not want to be able to remember a child when looking at his soulmate some day in the future.

To Peter’s surprise it was actually Laura, who supported his decision.

She had just recently started dreaming of her soulmate and said she couldn’t imagine finding out it was a child, never mind a baby.

He had to admit she had been the last person he had expected to be compassionate about his situation. She was usually rather mean spirited towards him. Granted, she was a teenager and he had been pretty despicable too when he had been her age.

In the end Deaton found something. It wasn’t perfect, it would only dampen the connection but it was better than nothing.

It was a sigil, placed on Peter’s neck, shielding his conscience from most images that would be transmitted. All that would get through to him were feelings - for the most part.

Deaton had also insisted on making it so the sigil would break as soon as Peter’s soulmate started dreaming of Peter as well.

And Peter supposed he was ok with that.

~*~

Years went by. Peter tried to continue his life as it had been before.

The knowledge he had a soulmate somewhere out there was strange.

The knowledge said soulmate was likely currently learning how to read and write was stranger and a big part of why he usually stayed away from thinking about it too much.

Roughly eight years went by before things started to change.

What changed were the emotions transmitted. It had been basic emotions so far, things any person might go through at times. But they were getting darker. Very dark.

When Peter dreamed now it was of fear and grief and pain, loneliness, but not because he wasn’t in company, no loneliness because he felt neglected and ignored and left alone with his feelings.

It got so intense in the next year he finally found himself at Deaton’s feet, sobbing, begging for him to take the sigil away. He needed to know! He needed to know who his soulmate was. It didn’t matter what his feelings were he needed to know who his soulmate was to help them, to take care of them, to make them feel held and loved and taken care of.

Deaton might have understood Peter’s peril, or maybe not, you could never be sure with him, but he explained to Peter that no one could break the sigil now.

It drove Peter almost insane, he hated himself for the rash decision he had made.

Now he had to witness his soulmates suffering every night, knowing it meant his soulmate, a child, was awake every night, being scared, being deeply sad and lonely.

His sister suggested therapy, Peter chose to drown himself in work.

He started to take on jobs other packs asked him to do.

He could have become a teacher for philosophy and ethics but being a fixer felt better, made him feel less helpless, numbed the pain.

He also became more isolated again.

Which was why he didn’t realize Chris’ psychotic sister was playing with his nephew.

He only realized his mistake when he was trying to drag his dying body out of their burning home.

~*~

Four years.

It took another four years until he was suddenly pulled out of the agony of his maddening comatose condition by a dream.

Not a vague feeling but an actual dream.

He was sitting in school, fidgeting with a pencil, gnawing on it while staring a the back of another person’s head.

He heard a voice next to him say “Stiles, buddy, help me!” and turned his head to see a teenage boy with a slightly crooked chin, a hopeful smile and very intense puppy dog eyes.

“Sure thing Scotty” he heard himself say in the awful tone of someone whose voice was breaking.

When he woke up again he knew what this meant, his soulmate had started dreaming of him.

Not ideal in any way. Of all the things that might happen Peter had not anticipated being in a vegetative state when their connection was revived.

But at least it helped him think more clearly. It was if nothing else, a change of pace.

~*~

It took almost two more years for Stiles to walk into Peter’s room.

When he did Peter could not see him, but hear and smell him.

He had never smelled Stiles before, and never heard his heartbeat before and yet he recognized both immediately.

When Stiles approaches and hesitantly places his hand in his Peter feels his heart speed up.

But his heart isn’t the only thing.

To his surprise his healing is jolted awake as well.

It is amazing how little it takes.

Just that tiny contact, that connection of someone is all it needed for his wolf to find the strength to heal.

He blinks and turns his head just a little bit.

For the first time he can see Stiles’ face, the face of his soulmate.

Smart, snarky, chaotic, beautiful Stiles.

The nurse, Jennifer, comes in and clears her throat.

“What are you doing here? Out. Immediately!”

Peter tightens his fingers around Stiles’ and holds him back as the teenager wants to follow the order.

The nurse gasps in surprise at Peter being able to move and he tries to speak.

It has been a long time but he manages one word.

“Stay”

Stiles stares back at him, then to the nurse for a short moment before he nods and sits down in the chair next to Peter’s bed.

The nurse tries to protest but Stiles silences her with a simple sentence.

“He is my soulmate.”