Chapter Text
“No, I’m not just letting you leave her here.”
“You don’t have a choice, Stiles. You’re coming with me.”
Stiles trembled looking from the young woman he was willing to die for to the psychotic monster that doesn’t care about anything but himself. He feels it, he feels like he’s going to have his throat torn out or worse and God, that’s not not how he wants his dad to find him. But, he can’t just leave Lydia here to bleed out all over this field!
“Just kill me! Look, I don’t care anymore!” Stiles shouts, taking in a breath when Peter tosses the blood stained tissue aside and grows closer. This is it, this is how he’s going to die.
Peter’s fingers firmly hook underneath his chin, the touch of his sharp claws are what send the sudden unknown wave of emotion down his spine but no, that’s not it. His entire body runs cold, colors suddenly flood his vision and everything is so different. No, no way, this isn’t real! No! This is some werewolf bullshit, Peter can force it!
Stiles looks up into his eyes, shaking as he’s forced to stand back up. Peter watches him with an empty expression, almost as though the sudden burst of color doesn’t bother him at all. Maybe he’s right, this is just a werewolf f-.
“Call your friend. Tell Jackson where she is, that’s all you get.” Peter orders, releasing him from his touch and immediately Stiles believes the colors will fade, they don’t.
“She’ll be incredibly powerfu-.”
“Can you not see them?” Stiles interrupts him, turning to glance at him before returning his eyes to the road.
“See what?” Peter asked, uninterested.
Stiles is in disbelief, wondering if maybe it is just a werewolf thing and that means Peter isn’t his soul mate. Except Derek put his hands on him way too many times, there’s no way. He frustratingly reached up to rub at the top of his head, hoping all of this was sort of mental disorder, but these colors aren't going away.
“You’re wondering whether I see in color now, aren’t you?”
Stiles abruptly breaks, and if not for his seatbelt he’d of bashed his skull once again into the steering wheel for the second time this week.
Peter makes a noise of annoyance, looking at him with disapproval. “That is not how one breaks, are you sure you know how to even drive?”
“Th-That’s what you want to talk about?! You just, are you, when they just appeared after we touched you didn’t even flinch! Why am I the only one freaking out here that my soulm-!” Stiles stops yelling when Peter’s hand abruptly wraps around his throat, forcing him to look into the man’s eyes, that icy cold stare that bleeds to red.
“Stiles, drive.”
“O-Or what? Huh, you’ll rip my throat out with your teeth?” Stiles licks his lips nervously, wondering if he already signed his execution, but Peter, he just laughs at him and releases him from his grasp.
“Drive.” Peter repeats, before he tugs on the seatbelt and goes back to starring outside the window.
Stiles can’t, he can’t understand any of this and reluctantly puts his Jeep into drive again.
“What happens after you find Derek?” Stiles asked, waiting impatiently for the laptop to load. He has to get away from Peter, find Lydia to see if she’s okay and then go find Scott.
“Don’t think, Stiles. Type.” Peter responded, not interested in anything else.
“You’re going to kill people, aren’t you?” He glanced at Peter for any sort of reaction, irritated that he finds none.
“Only the responsible ones.” Peter finally moved ever so slightly, looking into his eyes and making Stiles swallow the lump in his throat. He leaned in impossibly closer to the teenager, breath ghosting over his ear. “Do you think I killed my niece on purpose? One of the only remaining family members I have left? Maybe I did, but I was the one left all alone, left without even a goodbye.”
Stiles remembered reading through the police reports, one of the few survivors of that fire left here in Beacon Hills while the son and daughter left to escape. Peter was almost burned alive, suffering multiple burns all over his body, and then thought to have become a vegetable.
“Do you have any idea what it was like for me during those years? Slowly healing, cell by cell..” he trailed off, watching Stiles shut his eyes who could only imagine that pain in his head.
“I-,” Stiles shut up as the computer dinged, his eyes immediately look for the exact location and he froze. “Wait, he’s there? They’re keeping him at the old house?”
Peter shook his head, shutting the laptop closed. “Not in it, underneath.”
Stiles is left without words as he watched Peter grab the laptop, tucking it into the passenger seat and closing the door. “Give me your keys.”
Stiles blinked, not even able to find any words as the alpha wolf swiped away his keys and crushed them in his grasp. Peter bluntly gives them back to him, leaving him standing there with his keys folded in half. “Wait, so you’re not gonna kill me?”
Peter paused from climbing into the car, turning around to look at Stiles with an almost hurt face as he moved in closer.
Stiles can’t understand the seriousness written over his face, he actually looked at him as though he’s in pain after everything they’ve been through tonight.
“I like you, Stiles. Don’t you understand yet? I’m not the bad guy here.”
“You turn into a giant monster with red eyes and fangs, and you’re not the bad guy here?!” Stiles shouted a little too loudly, growing increasingly irritated by Peter’s attitude through this all. Silence appeared to follow them after his outburst, and it only ticks him off even more. “What?!”
Peter chuckled under his breath, a hint of a smile. “I’m going to give you something.”
Stiles is ready to tell him he doesn’t want a thing from him, but Peter beats him to it.
“Do you want the bite?”
It’s almost like everything goes quiet around them, the silent not welcome or unwelcome.
“If it doesn’t kill you, and it could.. you’d become like us.”
“Like you.” Stiles licked over his dry lips, wondering how or why he’s even thinking about agreeing to this stupid idea.
“That first night in the woods, I took Scott because I needed a new pack, it could’ve easily been you.” Peter assured as he moved in closer, standing inches away from Stiles. “We’d be equals, maybe more?”
Stiles flinched as Peter’s surprisingly warm hand wrapped around his wrist in a gentle grasp, a grasp he doesn’t understand why he doesn’t pull away from. This man is a killer, somebody whose killed those that burned his family alive, but still. It’s not the way to go, not the way anybody should go.
“Yes or no?” Peter softly asked, holding his hand up to his mouth as he stares into those gentle brown eyes looking back in his own. He smiles, opening his mouth and ready to sink his fangs in.. when Stiles abruptly pulled back.
He fumes at Peter, shakily breathing and trying hard not to panic. “I don’t wanna be like you.”
Peter stands back up straight, not an ounce of emotion in his eyes as he smiles. “You know what I heard just then? Your heart beating slightly faster over the words, ‘I don’t want’.” He doesn’t let Stiles even respond this time. “You may believe that you’re telling me the truth, but you are lying to yourself. Goodbye Stiles.”
Stiles quickly tried to get his two cents in, but by then Peter is climbing into his car and driving off. He stands there with an empty feeling sinking in his stomach, his hand coming up to gently rest on his wrist. Why does that hurt over everything else?
“Did you see anything? Do you have any idea what could have attacked her?”
Stiles looked away from Lydia lying there unconscious in the hospital bed, turning to look back at his dad with defeat written all over his face. Yes, I do. Peter Hale, Derek’s psychotic uncle, and the man that’s the other half of me did it.
“No. No, I have no idea.” He sighed, turning his gaze immediately back over towards Lydia. He’s not protecting her, he’s protecting the man who doesn’t feel a single thing for him.
“Wait, when did you decide it was definitely arson?” Stiles hurriedly tried to keep up with his father, listening intently as he tells him about the young woman who fits Kate Argent all too well. In the back of his head something stirs, a sense of pointless hope that maybe if she’s arrested Peter will back off.
If Peter backs off maybe he’ll get better, Peter will get better and maybe he’ll really look at him this time.
“You don’t have a car.”
“I’m aware of that. Thank you.” Stiles gripes back at him, wishing he’d leave him alone so he could find a way to get to Scott faster. Wherever Scott was Derek was, they had to have Peter somewhere following behind. Peter needed- he turned around, shoving Jackson’s hand away as he tried grabbing on his arm.
“Just because you feel guilty all of a sudden doesn’t make it alright, half of this is still your fault.”
Jackson’s entire face filled with guilt, but he remained where he was not giving up. “Look I have a car, you don’t. Do you want my help or not?”
Stiles is silently fuming, but in the end he snatches the keys out of Jackson’s hand and gives in. “I’ll drive.”
Neither of them even got a couple of steps closer before Chris Argent appeared in front of them, that stupid expression on his face.
Stiles is getting tired of being shoved into inanimate objects, all because people don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves.
“Let me ask you a question, Stiles? Have you ever seen a rabid dog?”
“No, if you put me down I could put it on my to do list.” He looks down into Chris Argent’s eyes, shaking slightly in frustration listening to him try to act like a big voice of reason. He listens to every single word the hunter spills, but part of him doesn’t think he could even believe a word out of his mouth.
“No, and it sounds like you ne-”
Stiles flinched, shutting his eyes tightly for a moment.
“Did Scott try to kill you on the full moon?! Did you have to lock him up?”
Stiles looked directly in the hunter’s eyes and a wave of anger filled him up all over. “Yeah, I did. I had to handcuff him to a radiator. Why? Would you prefer I locked him in the basement and burned the house down around him?!”
Chris actually has the nerve to smile at him, laugh almost, acting like he has no idea that his sister is the reason for all of this.
“I hate to dispel a popular rumor Stiles, but we never did that.”
“Yeah, Derek said you all have a code. Well, what if someone breaks it?”
When they finally arrive at the remains of the Hale house it’s already an all out fight. Stiles sees what looks like a monster, it’s huge, and- “Peter.” He shakily climbed out of the car, hand tightly gripping the glass beaker before hurling it towards the enraged wolf.
Peter catches it and Stiles inside is a little relieved, but then he listens to Scott yelling for Allison and suddenly Peter’s engulfed in flames once again. He’s frozen as a sinking feeling starts in the pit of his stomach, watching Jackson throw the second beaker that brings on an even larger fire. It's sickening inside to watch the flames burn wildly over him, for a second time Peter's reliving that night it feels.
Underneath the deformed werewolf Peter slowly reappears, badly burned, and it takes everything in him not to run over. For a second it feels as though everything will be okay, but he forgets about Derek, power-hungry, revenge filled Derek.
Scott’s pleas for him not to do this are the only thing audible, but they fall on deaf ears as Derek’s claws come down and slice open Peter’s throat.
Stiles freezes up when all the colors, the blood, the trees, everything suddenly washes all away. He drops down to the forest floor, looking over his hands and shaking when tears start to build up. Why is he crying for someone who felt nothing for him, someone who would have killed him if it benefited him.
“Stiles?”
He glanced up, staring at the charred remains of his other half standing there staring down at him, he transformed into the man unblemished by the fire, and then in seconds he’s the disfigured werewolf coming straight for him.
Stiles shot up from underneath the covers, bathed in layers of sweat and trying so hard to catch his breath. His eyes fall below and he lifted up the sweaty shirt covering his abdomen, trying to find the claw marks that felt so real before he woke up but they’re gone, nothing is there. He glances around his bedroom to find nothing, there’s nobody there. Peter’s not here.
“I-It was a dream, it was a dream,” he softly repeated to himself before dropping in exhaustion back down to the bed.
“Peter Hale is dead, and he’s not coming back.”
Sprawled out over his bed Stiles stared in confusion to the trees outside his window. Trees that he could have sworn had been a dark brown with green leaves when he opened his eyes just seconds ago. It wasn’t the first time this happened, seeing just a spec of color every morning before everything lost their hues and faded to black and white. It all started after they barely defeated the Nogitsune, every morning he would wake up to just a flash of color and then nothing. He was actually starting to believe he was still fucked up in the head, but who wouldn’t be after becoming possessed by a demonic fox.
Seeing any sort of color would never be possible again, not unless scientists one day figured out a way past this. Either that, or Peter magically appeared again one day, charred and burned, ready to come seek vengeance against everyone. Everyone probably even included himself for playing a part in trying to kill him. Derek had technically killed him, but had they not brought along those molotov cocktails and set him on fire maybe things would have gone a different way. Those memories of that day just about plagued him every single night, always the same, always so real. Each time the nightmare ended with Peter ready to tear him apart, or the man staring down into his eyes with a look that made him forget all the bad things Peter had done.
He’d eventually had to blab about what happened that day to Scott, unwillingly to Derek who overheard. Of course Sourwolf didn’t believe any of it at first, told him to stop lying but had to realize the cold truth. There weren’t any words of comfort or sympathy to pass on. In the eyes of everyone who crossed paths with the man it was for the best, Peter Hale gone was better for everyone and even more so himself. Derek told him over and over how Peter had never actually been a good person, and Stiles actually laughed because he didn’t care. He missed a man he didn’t even get to know, someone who’d tried to kill them all and he didn’t care.
“I-I just wish I could have known him before the fire, before he got driven insane.” Stiles stood outside the remains of the Hale House, directly over the spot where he'd watched Peter burn. He sunk a little inside feeling Derek’s judging eyes on him slowly appear out of the darkness. This has been the third night he’s come out here. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to even do, feel closer to Peter if possible? It’s the worst spot in the world, this is the spot where he helped them kill his-.
“Peter isn’t coming back and you should just forget about him, Stiles.” Derek repeated for what Stiles felt was the hundredth time.
“I know that, but maybe I could have-.”
“You couldn’t have done anything.” Derek's temper finally snaps, dramatically flying off of the porch to stand in front of him. “He is, was, a manipulative liar, anything he said or did was only for his own personal gain and that’s it. Peter said he didn’t know what he was doing when he killed Laura and he lied.” He argued, getting right up in Stiles’ face. “I did you a favor when I cut his throat, what you need to do is thank me instead of moaning about your lost love. It's pathetic-.”
“Shut up! You don’t know that!” Stiles fought back with tears welling in his eyes that he tried so hard to force back down. It’s the only thing that seems to stop Derek’s hands from shoving him back into the charred remains of a wall. “Do you think that I want to miss someone who hurt my friends?! He was a cold-blooded killer, and I think had he survived I would honestly have said screw everyone else.” He sobbed.
“Stiles you didn’t even know hi-.”
“I don’t care! No! Peter and I, I could have done something! We could have, we could-”
“Stiles!”
"You can't change my mind. He offered me the bite and I should have taken it! I could be like him and maybe-"
"Stiles!? Come on, snap out of it!"
Stiles shot up out of the bed, staring ahead towards his dad with a shaky gasp for air as he struggled to catch his breath. He ignored the stinging in his eyes, looking around the room with confusion. He's no longer back there in the past with Derek, he's back in his room. In his room it had still been dark, but now the sun is shining in through the windows. "It felt so real."
"Stiles? What felt so real?"
Stiles ignored his dad, continuing to look over his bedroom walls until they landed on the closet door. In front of the door stood Peter, but how? He tightened his hands into fists, shaking and briefly turning his eyes away from the closet door at the feeling of the mattress sinking, glancing over into his dad's concerned eyes. Glancing back to the closet door, Peter was long gone because of course, he was dead. “Sorry, what'd you say Dad?”
“You were laying there mumbling with your eyes open, I called out about three times but,” the Sheriff trailed off, not looking to have a clue what he was dealing with, “are you alright?”
Stiles released a heavy sigh, nodding his head and pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sorry I just, I was just.” He can’t seem to find the words to tell him. How does he even tell him he thinks he's going insane and having a breakdown over his dead soulmate?.
His dad knew all about what happened, but it’s not because he voluntarily filled him in on everything. It was around the time the Alpha Pack came to town, the Darach that turned out was Jennifer Blake, things had gotten so messed up and his dad knew he was lying to him every time he opened his mouth. Only when there were lives on the line did Stiles spill the truth, of course his dad thought he was lying, but seeing was believing, and his dad barely escaped being taken by Jennifer. After that, that’s when he told him everything, including Peter.
“Peter, you said his name.” His dad told him, getting up from the bed and moving to sit down in the desk chair across from him with his hands in his lap. “I’d never push you to tell me, but you can’t just go on like this kiddo.”
Stiles shook his head, immediately trying to retreat back into his bubble where he covered up his feelings and threw away the key. “No, Dad. It wasn’t even, I was just thinking about him. It's nothing.”
“What about him were you thinking of?”
“Dad, look, can we just not talk about this? Please. Look, it's almost eight, I’m gonna be late for the first period and Mr. Finstock is going to kill me.” He stressed, hurriedly climbing out of bed and going about to the bathroom to wash his red rimmed eyes.
His dad shook his head, watching him desperately trying to avoid talking about any of this. “Stiles I’m not trying to force you to tell me anything, I just hate seeing you like this. It's not healthy and I think you need to talk about this with someone, anyone.”
Stiles rushed out of the bathroom, quickly stripping out of his pajamas and pulling on whatever clothes he saw first. “I know, Dad. I know, but I swear I’m fine a-and if I really need to talk to you I will. It was nothing I swear, just dumb memories.” He avoids looking anywhere towards him again, because just one look will be enough to make him crumble.
“Stiles, just stop and listen to me for a second.” His dad pleads.
“I love you, tonight let's do healthy veggie burgers or even one of those disgusting, juicy meat burgers.” Stiles bolted out of his bedroom, jogging down the stairs and racing out the front door to get to his Jeep. He threw his backpack into the passenger seat, using a little too much force closing the door behind him.
Fumbling to stick the key in the ignition his hand shook, unable to keep it still. “You've gotta be kidding me, stop this, just stop.” He felt a panic attack coming on and he just couldn't think straight, he was losing his mind one day at a time. Just as he found himself about to call out for his dad the unexpected happened. His hand suddenly stilled under a weight he couldn't see, the feeling of someone grasping his hand so carefully, the feeling of claws dragging against the back of his hand.
Stiles’ breathing hitched and he paused for a couple endless seconds before slowly sticking the key into the ignition. Turning it to the right he listened as the engine came to life. He felt the air return back to his lungs, eyes glued over the goosebumps on his skin where that feeling of someone holding his hand retreated just as quickly as it came. He swore he felt a warm touch, a familiar warmth with dangerous claws that tore into him almost every night in his dreams.