Chapter Text
It isn’t until he hears the sirens and sees the flashing red and blue lights reflect off his windshield that Peter Hale realizes just how far over the speed limit he’s driving. “Fuck.” He flips his blinker on and slows to a stop on the shoulder of the dirt road. He eyes the rearview mirror, monitoring the way the deputy steps out of the car.
He’s tall, lean, young—like first day on the job looking young. Peter lowers his window and waits. The deputy touches the trunk of Peter’s car and glances into the back seat before looking at Peter.
“I’m so sorry, officer,” Peter says, trying his best to look contrite, hoping maybe the deputy will give him a break on the ticket. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
The deputy appears unimpressed. “License and registration, please.”
“Of course.” Peter pulls out his license first and hands it over before he searches his glove box for the registration papers.
“Your license and plate are both from New York,” the deputy says. “What brings you to Beacon Hills?”
“Visiting.” That isn’t true, but he’s hardly going to explain himself to the deputy.
“Well, word to the wise, stop speeding down these roads because a ticket could be the least of your worries.” He hears the way the deputy’s heart speeds up. “You see that corner up there?”
Peter pulls out his registration and follows the deputy’s little head nod. “Yes.”
“They call that corner ‘The Killer.’” The deputy’s heart keeps hammering away, and Peter keeps his mouth shut. “Be right back.” With the license and registration in hand, the deputy returns to his squad car.
Money isn’t a problem for Peter, the ticket is only a minor annoyance to tack onto his increasing anxiety about being back in Beacon Hills.
It takes a few minutes, but the deputy is steadier when he returns. Peter tunes out the speech but doesn’t make a fuss about accepting the ticket along with his license and registration papers. Part of him wishes they’d met under different circumstances. The young deputy—Stilinski, he reads the badge—could have made this trip a little more bearable. That ship has sailed now.
“You’re good to go,” Deputy Stilinski says. “Drive safe, Mr. Hale.”
He watches the deputy walk away in the mirror and yeah, he really wishes they’d met under better circumstances.
°
The house nestled in the preserve isn’t exactly the one that Peter grew up in but it’s a pretty faithful replica. Talia had stayed, to rebuild, reclaim, and endure. Peter had cut his losses and tried to build something, anything, elsewhere. In business, he’d succeeded. In everything else, he’d failed. No relationship felt right. No house felt like home. No number of friends could create a sense of pack and make up for what he’d lost.
He stares at the house for a second, his heart racing. There is a part of him that always thinks the place will be burning when he arrives.
Talia is standing outside on the porch. The wolf within settles at the sight of his alpha. He’s torn, the man and the wolf. A part of him wants to rush to his only living sister, to hold her, to stay and be a proper pack. The other part of him wants to slam the car into reverse and find a nice little property as far as possible from Beacon fucking Hills. Ultimately, he doesn’t want a different pack, nor does he want to become an omega, and so whenever the bond is stretched to the point of pain, he returns. And, always faithful, Talia awaits.
He doesn’t bother grabbing his bags. His feet have a mind of their own. Talia walks toward him but he can tell she’s excited, tamping it down because they’re both adults now, control freaks, and god forbid anyone see them wagging their metaphorical tails.
She hugs him so tight, and sometimes he thinks it might be enough to slam those jagged edges of his soul back together. He hugs her back with the same strength and tucks his face against her neck. The pack bonds settle, the ache starts to fade away. His alpha smells of apple pie and baby powder. The rest of the pack is inside. He knows it’s expanded since the last time he was here. Derek has twin daughters—Peter had hung up the phone before he’d heard their names, afraid they might have been named after his own deceased twin sisters. When had he become the wolf who runs away?
“I’m so happy you’re home,” Talia says.
He can’t say with full honesty that he’s happy to be home. He settles on, “I’m happy to see you.”
They step back from one another and he instantly misses the touch. It is the first time in a long while he’d let someone get so close. Lately, the only touch he’d felt was the occasional feel of his soulmate: a hug, a pat on the shoulder, an echo of a touch that didn’t really belong to him.
“Are you ready to go in?” Talia asks him.
“No.”
Talia waits, thumbs in her belt loops. Her head cocks to the side. “What are you so scared of?”
He once thought that he could keep everyone, his sister included, at a cool distance. He thought that if he did so, then he would be unaffected should anything happen to them, and they wouldn’t be affected should something happen to him. A win/win.
It didn’t work.
When he’d heard Laura had been attacked by a couple of hunters while she’d been out of town on a job, he’d prowled his loft—too far away to do anything useful. He’d missed so much of the lives of his nieces and nephew while trying to keep from becoming attached. He weakened the pack by staying away.
“It’s harder to stay gone for so long. I think I might try to settle somewhere closer.”
She raises a brow. “Are you’re ready for that?”
He huffs out a breath. “I didn’t say that.” In fact, just saying it out loud makes him want to crawl out of his skin. He still isn’t sure he could tolerate living in Beacon County, much less in the preserve of Beacon Hills. “But I think it’s time to try.”
Her lips press into a firm line—the same way their mother’s once did. “You’re always welcome here, Pete.”
His eyes narrow. “I’m going back to New York if you call me ‘Pete’ again.”
“Right, sorry.” She smirks. “Petey.”
“Tal—“
She lunges at him, gets him in a headlock and digs her knuckles into his skull. “Peter, Peter, pumpkin-eater!”
He wrestles her a bit until he’s able to get out of her grasp. Somehow, he feels lighter than before. “Remind me again why I drove across the country?”
Talia’s eyes flare red. “Because I’m the alpha.”
There had been a time when he’d been jealous of Talia being next in line to inherit the power. Now, he’s so thankful he wasn’t burdened with it on top of everything else. Her teasing has managed to tamp down his anxieties but they’re still there, lingering in the background. “Just please tell me Derek didn’t name the twins after—“
“No.”
It’s solid, assuring. “Let’s get this over with.” He follows her into the house.
The wolf within is ecstatic over seeing Talia’s children; they’re alive, alive, alive.
They haven’t noticed him yet, standing in the entrance to the living room. Cora’s curled up in an overstuffed leather chair with her phone. Laura’s cut her hair into a severe bob, it’s dyed blonde and looks surprisingly good on her—and it helps that she’s grown out of that stage where she looked so much like Rosie. Derek’s kneeling on the carpet, a baby strapped to his chest, another on a blanket mid diaper change.
“Peter!” Ezra, Talia’s husband, greets him warmly, pulls him into a hug. Despite the fact that the man is entirely human, he’s developed wolfish tendencies. “Good to see you, how was the drive?”
“Long,” Peter replies.
“You must be exhausted, the guest room is all made up for you. Are your bags still in the car?”
“I’ll get them after—“
“Oh it’s no problem!” Somehow, Ezra managed to snatch the keys out of Peter’s hand and was out the door.
Laura walks up to him, but there is a wariness in her approach. They might be pack, but he hasn’t been around much. He also notes how she’s managed to block his view of the babies. Subtle in her protectiveness—he approves. He can also tell that her younger siblings might all be adults, but they’re looking to Laura for cues on how to handle Peter.
Her eyes flicker gold and she makes a move like she’s going to punch him. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move to counter—he can’t. When she was a little girl, she toddled after him chanting ‘Pier, Pier’ which was as close to his name as she could get. Apart from her parents, he’d been her favourite person. Not her Auntie Rosie who made cookies. Not Aunt Ann-Marie who brought her new toys. No, it had been Peter, for reasons no one had ever been able to figure out. No, he’d never fight Laura.
Her fist stops barely half an inch from his nose and she smirks. “I’m getting too fast for you, old man.” She flicks his nose. When that still doesn’t elicit a response, she jumps at him, her arms wrapping around him, her nose a little cold against his neck. “Missed you,” she whispers, and he holds her a little tighter.
Once she steps back, Cora’s waiting. She’s quieter with her affection, still eyes him suspiciously but hugs him, brushes her cheek against his in the most casual scenting and then slips away.
Derek is still kneeling; the diaper change complete, the baby back in her white with multi-coloured polka dots onesie. He thought Laura would be the most difficult one, the one who’d snap at him for being gone away so long once again, but he should have suspected the new parent. The lines of Derek’s shoulders are tense, eyes wary. No one says anything for a long minute.
Surprising him, it’s Derek that breaks the silence. “Do you want to meet them?”
For how little he’s been part of his remaining family’s life since the fire, it’s an olive branch he isn’t sure he deserves. He walks a little closer and kneels down near Derek. The baby on the blanket is so small; she moves her legs a little, but is too young to even roll over. Tiny and utterly defenseless.
He reaches out to her but pauses, looks to Derek for permission. He nods. Peter touches her little palm and her fingers grab one of his. “What’s her name?”
“Remington.”
Peter scoffs. “Like the gun?”
Derek’s smiling sweetly down at his baby. “We call her Remi.”
“What about the other one,” he points to the one still strapped to Derek’s chest.
“Bowie.”
Peter raises a brow. “As in David Bowie?”
“As in Bowie knife.”
“What on earth made you decide to name your beautiful daughters after weapons?”
“I didn’t. Braeden named them. I wasn’t arguing with her after 22 hours of labour.”
That is…fair.
“Do you want to hold her?” Derek asks, already lifting Remi up.
He does and he doesn’t. She’s too little, can’t even support her head very well yet. But she’s Derek’s, she’s pack, and she smells of baby powder and a little like lavender. Derek doesn’t wait for an answer anyway. Peter quickly readies his arms, makes sure that her head is supported and tucks her in close to his chest.
Remi blinks up at him. She got her daddy’s eyes. He can’t say for sure what she got from her mother other than the dark skin tone. Peter’s never actually met the woman and considering that Derek’s been with his soulmate, Braeden, for three years, he knows he’s behind the curve. Remi waves her little fist before trying to fit it into her mouth. When her fist won’t fit, she just sucks on her hand.
The last baby he’d held was Nicholas, Rosie’s son. He died in the fire. His heart leaps to his throat and for a second, he can’t breathe.
“Carry her out to the car for me?” Derek asks, he’s packing up the diaper bag. “If we don’t get them down by seven thirty it’s going to be a nightmare.”
It’s a little awkward standing up without using his hands, but he manages. Derek says his goodbyes to his family, Talia kisses the foreheads of the babies, and then Derek for good measure. Peter follows him to his vehicle. No longer the sporty little black car but some SUV that probably boasts some impressive safety features. The diaper bag is chucked in the middle of two car seats and Derek unstraps Bowie.
Bowie yawns and looks about ready to nod off as Derek buckles her in and double checks every strap. They walk around to the other side of the car and Derek takes Remi from him. As much as he hadn’t really been comfortable holding the baby to begin with, he misses the warmth and weight of her. Worse, his wolf doesn’t want them to leave, afraid of what could happen when they’re out of sight.
With both infants strapped in, Derek turns around and now that he doesn’t have Bowie strapped to him, he can cross his arms and fully express his displeasure. “How long are you staying this time?” He didn’t expect Derek to be the one to be so forward with him. He expects it more from Laura, even Cora, but Derek’s always been rather mild-mannered—at least until his temper gets the best of him.
“I don’t know,” Peter says. He thinks it’s time to come home but admitting it to Talia is one thing, admitting it to Derek is another. If he’s honest with himself, he’s still not sure he won’t just take off in the middle of the night, the scent of burning flesh chasing him out of town.
Derek must see some conflict on his face because he relaxes minutely. “It hurts mom when she finds you’ve gone again.” ’It hurts the whole pack when you pull away,’ goes unsaid but Peter knows it to be true. He knows it’s worse on Talia because she’s the alpha and feels the bonds more acutely than he or Derek ever could.
Derek looks like he might say more but pulls away. “I have to get the girls home.”
“When will I be meeting Braeden?”
That makes Derek pause. “You’re sticking around long enough?”
He deserves that. “Yes.”
“We’ll be at dinner this weekend.”
Four days away. Peter can guarantee four days. He nods. “I’ll see you then.”
°
Even though they’d already said their good nights and gone to different rooms, Peter knows where Talia will be and that she’ll be waiting. The build of the house is familiar enough that he barely pauses after he opens his window and steps out onto the slightly slanted porch cover. It’s easy to walk along until he gets to the next part of the roof and climbs up on it. At the back, there is a flat patch. Talia’s sitting on the edge, her legs dangling over.
He takes a seat next to her. They sit there for a while in silence. The night has cooled, a gentle breeze makes the trees sway. He can hear the crickets and the rattle of leaves.
He feels a quick kiss on his cheek—something swift and fading, an echo of touch from his soulmate. He wonders sometimes, which sense it was that they got from him. He prays it wasn’t touch, prays they’d never felt the fire lick his skin. He doesn’t let himself think of the fire, of the things he felt, or saw, or smelled, or heard, or tasted. God, he hopes that those moments didn’t imprint themselves on his soulmate. He prays those moments stayed his and his alone. He can’t let himself think of the fact that he was the only person the first responders had been able to save. He doesn’t think of the years he spent trapped in his own body. He doesn’t think of his skin healing far too slow.
Talia leans into his side, probably smells his distress because even though he doesn’t want to think about it, it seeps into his mind.
“There’s something happening in the woods,” Talia says. “I’ve warned the kids to stay out of it.”
“You need my help?”
“I wouldn’t say no to it,” Talia says, sitting up straight again. “Five years ago there were the same signs, unnatural cold spots, entirely frozen animals in the middle of the summer. Once I even walked out into a small clearing in the preserve to find it covered in frost, and icicles melting from the trees. I probably just missed whatever it is. Never found the thing, just one day it was gone. I thought that hunters killed it but now I’m not so sure.” She sighs. “A few people died. Hypothermia in the middle of summer…I can’t prove it but I’d wager on at least one car accident during that time being ice related.”
“We’ll handle it,” he promises. These lands are theirs to protect. He can’t leave while his pack is in potential danger. Maybe if he stays long enough to let it all settle in, it won’t be so bad. He’s still not thrilled about being here, but he isn’t angling to make his escape yet. Little goals like meeting Braeden and helping Talia keep him grounded.
“I’m going to head in,” Talia says, standing carefully.
“G’night, Tali.”
She leans down to kiss the top of his head. “Good night, Pete.”
He flips her off.