Only He saw

Fairy Lights

Trooping back through the rough terrain of the forest to the Stilinski household didn't take as long as the previous outing had, the pain acting as a hindrance curling through Stiles body had diminished rapidly until finally, there was none.

The three talked, breathless and giddy after the realisation of Stiles' newfound additional supernatural identity. By the time they reach the familiar household, the entirety of the situation has been stripped bare and analysed from every angle. Stiles walking with his hand clasped in Peters, Nadia watching them fondly.

As they step through the door, the murmur of the TV greets them from the living room. Immediately, the Sheriff rushed out of the room, standing at the end of the short hallway, staring at Stiles. His eyes widened and wordlessly walks forward, rising shaken, rough hands to the now smooth, healed skin.

"You worked your magic, kiddo...I'm proud of you." He murmurs, pulling the boy close and hugging him, his voice gruff. Stiles smiles into his shoulder, eyes wet. His dad had been kept in the dark for so long, and his introduction had been less than pleasant...but Stiles had healed, and he planned to keep it that way.

John inhaled, letting his son go. As he shuffles from foot to foot in front of the ajar door, John decides to clear up any worry Stiles may have had, aware his former hostility could've scared the boy.

"I'm sorry I was...off...this morning." Stiles nodded uncomfortably, but John carried on talking. "I was wrongly taking out my fear on you, and...after your mother died, I've been scared to lose you, too. And how I would be after..." He grunts, looking at the ground, a constipated look on his hardened face.

Stiles frowned, eyes turning dark. A lump rose in his throat, and he struggled to see through the rapidly increasing tears overflowing down his cheeks. "I love you, dad, and I miss her just as much as you do..." He whispers voice strained. "I'm not planning on leaving any time soon..." His voice cracks, and he tries to smile, staring earnestly at Johns' face.

John chuckles wetly, hugging his son firmly, patting him on the back, looking over Stiles' shoulder at Peter and Nadia awkwardly staring at the ground. He smirks, and gestures over to them, inviting them to join the hug. Soon, all four end up in a happy embrace, surrounded on all sides by the pack.

The puppy pile is moved to the lounge, where the four sprawl over the couches and the sheriff discovers more about his son: The Werau. He pulls him closer, silently showing his support, and Stiles grins, catching the eye of Peter, who takes his hand tentatively, curling their fingers together, out of the sharp eyes of the Sheriff.

Later, when the TV filled the content silence, Nadia cleared her throat, grabbing the packs attention. She sat cross-legged on the couch, next to Stiles and Peter, gnawing nervously on her jumper.

"Y'know...how we talked about me and Penny moving somewhere nearby?" She started nervously. The others nodded, intrigued. "Penny's in the town over...for business..." She grinned, ignoring Peters snort and Stiles disbelieving face, and carried on. "Okay, sure, the business is you, but I thought it would be fun for all of us to go out to coffee, and talk and Stiles," She nodded at him. "John," She asked. "Can meet her...is that okay?" She rushes, wondering if she should have waited for longer 'till introducing Penny.

Stiles nudges her, grinning supportively and squeezing her hand. "We'd love that!" He says, nodding vigorously. Nadia laughs and leans against him gratefully. "I know she's a nerd...I've seen some of your texts!" He smiles innocently, Nadia gaping confusedly. "We're gonna get on just fine..." He says, his eyes glinting mischievously.

The druid sighs, tucking her phone into her pocket. "Why am I suddenly worried about that...?" She asks.

Peter chuckles, followed by John, as they watch Stiles beaming innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about." He grins piously, faking offence at the varying degrees of scorn that meet him. They laugh, and their joy runs louder than the cheesy infomercial on the TV in front of them, everyone smiling.

The pack stayed curled together for much of the afternoon, until the Sheriff was called into the station, breaking the sense of serenity. Nadia went to Penny, and Stiles, he went with Peter, into the woods, to the house hiding in the woods, effortlessly elegant, yet beautifully rustic.

When the sky darkened to a picturesque pink, hues of red and gold entwined with that of blue and violet. Peter sat amiably in the arch of his bay window, Stiles next to him. The two stared out into the forest outside, the darkening trees pelted with droplets of water as heavy, swirling clouds stampeded the earth with . The faint clap of thunder resonated through the house, seemingly harmless in the cosiness of the dimmed lights.

The weather had turned suddenly, a tang in the dry summer air to a storm pelting over their heads. Peter leaned against the cold glass, his measured breath blowing spirals of warm air onto the freezing window. Stiles turned to look at him, studying the man sitting so calmly next to him.

Peter had been a monster for so long. Stiles had never stopped to think about the moments when he wasn't fighting. Behind the cruel, malicious mask, were there always these moments of pure tranquillity? When did the warmth creep back into his heart? After years of being manipulated and sacrificed, he had twisted and warped into a power hungry, merciless beast. Yet he'd managed to come back from that, to reign in the anger, when so many hadn't.

Stiles never imagined...dating...someone like him. Every single time he'd wondered about his future, the old packs future, he'd imagined himself as a valued member, hopefully safe, and everyone had fought out the things that set them so far apart. Jackson realised he didn't need to keep up a hard front at all times, Isaac managed to heal after his father, Lydia could have been a friend of his, Boyd and Ericka would have liked him. Sure, Derek? He could have been civil.

But they were the people who swept him aside as if he was worth nothing.

And now, he was in an entirely different pack. His pack.

Peter looked at Stiles, seeing his vacant stare. Stiles seemed to come back to himself, eyes tearing away from the window and settling onto Peter. He smiled, reaching out a hand tentatively, relieved when the older man grinned lazily back, gripping his outstretched fingers in his own. They shared a moment of silence, nothing but the rain penetrating the heavy calm.

Stretching languorously, the Were eyed the room: empty take-out cups, the paused TV, fairy lights wrapped precariously around a nearby plant - Stiles insisted on them, apparently, it made the room seem less "Serial Killer-esque". Secretly, Peter agreed with him.

The quilt wrapped around Stiles slipped onto the seat, it's bright, homey fabric seemingly out of place among the modern set-up inside the house. Similar adventitious objects had slipped into nooks in the room, Stiles doing, of course. The boy had, accidentally or otherwise, ended up bringing a great many items into the house, and they had been integrated into Peters lifestyle quite effortlessly. Stiles had also, inevitably, crept into his heart.

"What's up?" Stiles murmured, eyeing Peter warily. Peter shook his head, smiling at the ground in amusement.

"Nothing is up, as you put it." He snorts, Stiles rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "I'm just...happy."

"Happy?" Stiles echoed, a hopeful smile dawning on his pale face.

"Yes," Peter murmured, head bowed, but his lips were curved upwards as he admitted how...good...the past few months had been.

Stiles grinned, pulling him into a hug, leaning his head into Peters' shoulder, surveying the room. With their backs to the rain, the warm glow encapsulated them, and it felt like the night could go on for an eternity.