Only He saw

You're Back?!

A dirty, blue jeep revved its dying engine and sputtered to an eventual, morose stop, its owner swearing profusely and trying their hardest not to show the despair on their face. This was Stiles. He clenched his fists and tried to centre the dread in his stomach by pressing the scars, causing pain from earlier inflicted wounds to course through him. He bent his head, taking wobbly but measured breaths and dug out his battered phone to call the Sherriff, his dad, to account for his latest break down.

Hearing the low purr of an upcoming car, Stiles quickly looked up to see a sleek sports car, easily being one of the most expensive of its kind. Confusing, as Beacon Hills was a town of aged retirees and beaten down families....who was it? Hurriedly looking down so as not to be caught staring, Stiles began to slowly dial his father's number. He secretly hoped- however far in denial that thought was- that the driver would stop to help, or quite contrastingly be an outlet from Stiles' imagination that would leave as quickly as it appeared, which one he wanted? He wasn't sure.

Miraculously, the engine slowed to a smooth halt as the vehicle halted next to the jeep. A tinted window rolled down soundlessly. Stiles gaped, it was Peter!

"Hello, handsome," Peter smirked as Stiles sniggered in obvious disbelief, making Peter's eyes narrow. Stiles put his phone in his pocket and embarrassedly muttering "Hello, Creeper Wolf." Peter fixed him with a hard stare that made any little confidence Stiles had to disappear.

Shifting nervously from foot to foot, he gave the older man an uncomfortable grin, Peter leaned over and undid the door on the other side of the car, then looked at Stiles, a. "Well, if you promise to behave yourself, then you can get in." analysing the much-changed teen in front of him.

"What about my baby? I would NEVER leave her like that! You can't expect me to-"

"I'll call the repair company, Stiles, hurry up."

"Oh. Then thanks, though I have a feeling you have an ulterior motive. I suppose I'll get to that when you do whatever it-"

"Do you really trust me so little?" Peter asked amusedly, though if Stiles could detect scents like the wolf, he would've noticed a small amount of sorrow and remorse.

Stiles scoffed, a small snigger making its way through his clamped, tense mouth.

"You've never proven yourself trustworthy, have you?" He ended on a questioning, insecure tone, all the confidence Stiles had rotted away after he was rejected by Derek and the pack.

Peter, though he wouldn't tell a soul, felt guilty. But he felt an overwhelming sense of curiosity. The boy in front of him had drastically changed. Stiles used to be loud, cocky, sarcastic. Stiles didn't hate himself. And Peter wanted to know why...how? The boy had shrunk in on himself, making a small, protective instinct flare up inside Peter. That confused him...who was Stiles to Peter? A small, annoying, sensitive child! But his emotions changed, and so did Stiles.

"Well," He started, "Let me at least begin to show my worth by helping now." Peter gestured to the empty seat of his sleek, inviting car, and Stiles pushed aside all his fears because if this was a trap, he'd die. That's what he wanted. But if he lived? He was alive, and Stiles counted that as a win. So, with a diminishing sense of trepidation, he sat awkwardly in the seat of Peter's car, wary of the wolf beside him.

The journey would take fifteen minutes, and five of those were spent in an uncomfortable, on Stiles behalf, and curious, in the case of Peter, silence. This was broken, luckily, when Peter coughed and tapped his fingers languidly against the steering wheel.

"So hows my nephews pack doing? I trust they're all as annoying as usual."

Stiles snickered quietly and mournfully, the memory was fresh and as painful as the cut on his arm.

Should he tell Peter what happened? On one hand, he didn't care, obviously. He was Peter Hale. He was a narcissist, sociopathic, feral wolf. But alternatively, he wouldn't care! He wouldn't mind what happened, and he wouldn't judge Stiles, god, not after his strained relationship with Derek.

"Well, I'm not...a part of that pack anymore, so I'm not sure..." His gravelly unused voice sliced through the otherwise quiet car, and Peters' eyes widened, what the hell was Derek thinking, getting rid of Stiles?! He hadn't learned that wolves and humans aren't on different levels, and packs need the focus and unique view of a human to ground the pack! It was probably this idiocy and way of thinking that created the situation.

Peter felt angry, on behalf of Stiles but also at himself. Why did he not teach Derek when he had the chance? Kate Argent filled his heart with fear and hate and now he viewed every human as the same, the same traits, and the same death wish for the ones he loved. Who was he protecting? What did Stiles do?

The poor kid looked like he'd taken it hard, and...is that the smell of blood? Peter was worried. Becuase, if he was right, Stiles was making the same mistakes as he did, a long time ago. Suddenly, he felt very aware of the rigid scars expanding over his stomach and thigh, no one knew. But Peter has only become more broken through his lifetime, and his burns did nothing but give him cover for them. No one asks a burn victim about suspicious scars. No one ever asks.

So Peter wanted to answer.

Before it got worse for Stiles. He'd respond to his plea for help!

But Peter didn't live in an ideal world. And emotions are weaknesses. So how could he help?! Peter was still shrouded in his own darkness, and he couldn't get rid of it. He didn't need Stiles addition.

"It's a shame. You're worth more than them, Stiles." Peter smiled smugly at Stiles as if he knew all the things that the younger man didn't. "They missed their chance, they didn't value you."

Stiles looked at him, a not-quite-smile extending to his ashen lips, he was confused but unsurprised at Peters actions. He'd wanted him to join him to create a pack for a long time, but Peter wasn't an alpha anymore. Surely? So what did he want?

Even as he debated the possibility of Peter being an alpha once again, the memory of the night before came back to him. Glowing eyes. Red. Glowing. Eyes. But with one final doubt, Stiles banished that thought, burying it deep in a pile among other things he refused to think about, and was determined to keep ignoring until the problem went away.

"I appreciate the thought, Peter.-"

"Aaah so I'm not Creeper Wolf anymore?"

"Well, now you've been demoted" Creeper Wolf."

Peter smirked and watched Stiles chuckle, but there wasn't any real happy emotion behind it, but it was something.

"Stay safe, okay?"

"Wow. That was ominous, even for you."

But as he said it, Stiles' heart sped up, and he doubted if the cut had escaped Peters notice. He willed it to speed up healing, so he could just forget all about it!

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence, this one a little tenser until the unlikely pair pulled up in front of the Stillinski residence. Stiles internally sighed, he didn't want to leave the quiet yet somehow reassuring presence of the older Hale man, and stepping into the dark, silent house was an unsavoury idea.

"I'll call the breakdown company. I'll drop off your keys when it's done so-"

"But how do I get to scho-" Stiles sputtered

"Call me and I can take you there and back until you've got your lump of metal back," Peter interjected smoothly.

Stiles scowled but felt warmth flood into his stomach, knowing he wouldn't have to say goodbye just yet.

"But why are you back? What happened? Were you with Coar? I appreciate the ride, but what did you do? I-"

"Goodbye, Stiles."

"...Bye. Peter."