Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kevin

If something is going just a little too well, if the pros far outweigh the cons, if your alpha tells you, “It’ll be easy. They won’t suspect a thing. Trust me!” do not, in fact, trust anything but your gut. Because your gut will be telling you it’s a trap that will spring shut when you least expect it. And your gut will absolutely be right.

That’s the lesson Kevin had learned less than five minutes ago. Next time—and god, how he hoped he’d live long enough that there could be a next time—he wouldn’t let Rob talk him into potentially becoming cannon fodder…

The snap of a branch far too close behind him made his heart lurch painfully in his chest. How did an ordinary human manage to not only keep up with him but also gain ground? Sure, he was part of the local law enforcement, so he was probably used to running around, but Kevin was a werewolf. He prided himself on his agility, always having been faster than the humans in their pack.

This was as unprecedented as it was outrageous!

Kevin stumbled and barely caught himself on the trunk of the tree whose stray root had tripped him up. The scrape on his hand stung, but he could already feel it healing. Gaining his footing had cost him a precious second or two, though.

He took off again without looking back. He’d escape the human if it was the last thing he did.

… ugh! He winced. Bad wording. He really needed to practice his pep talks.

Why was the human still keeping up? He was old. Shouldn’t he have started flagging already?

Kevin’s lungs were burning. Where was a convenient cover when you needed one? For being a preserve with a “let’s keep things as natural as possible” approach, its trees had far too much space between them!

He tripped again. And this time, trying to stay upright proved almost impossible. This is it, he thought with a sinking feeling. Now, the human would definitely catch up. He was mad at himself for failing so spectacularly.

Just as he braced himself for the inevitable, there was suddenly a strange electric crackling in the air. He began to shake uncontrollably as the air around him got charged with energy and gained a peculiar, iridescent glow.

The human—the local sheriff, Kevin realized as he got his first good look at his pursuer—was close enough that a shot from his now raised gun might be able to kill a wolf even if he only used ordinary bullets.

Kevin wanted to close his eyes but found himself unable to look away. Which was why he saw in great detail how a shadowy figure formed in the glow and reached for the human.

And then, with a sizzling crack, the energy field collapsed. Kevin could suddenly breathe freely again and sagged against the tree behind him. It was only the deafening silence that clued him in to an important fact: He was alone in the forest.

When the magic—because what else could it have been?—had vanished, so had the sheriff.

What the fuck???

He fumbled for his phone, relieved to see that this far into the preserve, reception wasn’t the strongest, but it was blessedly stable. He tapped Rob’s name with prejudice, impatiently waiting for the call to connect.

“Kevin? It’s a little soon for your check-in. Are things already wrapped up?”

“Wrapped up?” Kevin was aware that his voice sounded shriller than normal, but the situation warranted some hysterics, in his opinion. “You have… you have no idea how batshit crazy this place is! Have you done any research before you sent us here? Or are we just that expendable to you?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Ohhhh! Was the mighty alpha mad that the lowly beta dared to raise his voice at him? Rob would just have to deal, wouldn’t he? The adrenaline crash Kevin was experiencing right now left him with zero fucks to give.

“You said the True Alpha was too gullible to suspect a hidden agenda—”

“He is!”

“Yeah, but you neglected to mention his rabid right hand. And the local law enforcement.”

“McCall has no dealings with the sheriff’s department.”

“That really doesn’t mean anything if his attack dog starts a brawl that hikers notice a mile away and call it in.”

“So? That pack’s weak enough that a brawl shouldn’t be a problem. You have Jacky with you. What has she been doing?”

“Failing at putting the enchantment on McCall and letting herself be arrested by the deputy on scene. Who’s a fucking hellhound, by the way! If you knew that and thought it too unimportant to mention, I’m gonna go look for a better pack to join!”

“Watch it!” Rob’s growl would have cowed Kevin on an average day, but right now, he was fired up and viciously happy he wasn’t the only one out of his depth.

“Not today, Rob. I’m gonna say my piece, and you’re gonna listen! Whatever your end goal was, here, it’s not worth it, you hear me? I’ve been chased through the forest by a very human sheriff, and he almost caught me. I’m not sure what kind of steroids he’s on, but he was this close to either arresting me or just shooting me. He looked determined enough. If that’s what the humans are like in Beacon Hills, it doesn’t matter how weak the pack is. Especially after that sheriff got bested by something even stronger. Something kidnapped him from right under my nose. And while I’m certainly grateful that I’m still whole and a free man, I’m not willing to mess with whatever lives in the preserve that gets the best of the most dangerous human I’ve ever met. And if you have any sense at all, you shouldn’t either.”

There was a stunned pause while Kevin caught his breath. Then Rob asked suspiciously, “Are you done?”

“Almost. Just one more thing: If you want Jacky back, go get her yourself. I’m not gonna get within a mile of the station. The sheriff may be gone, but there’s still that hellhound around. And whatever he cuffed Jacky with, it suppressed her magic. So I’m staying well away from that. And I’m gonna take the scenic route when coming back. I need some time to myself. Don’t call me!”

Kevin blinked when he realized he had just hung up on his alpha without waiting for a reply. But his phone stayed silent, so apparently, he had gotten his point across. Good!

Now… time to get out of here. The sooner he left Beacon Hills, the better.

~

Peter

“When is anyone going to bring up calling Stiles?”

“We’re not telling him!”

Peter narrowed his eyes at Scott. He was used to his suggestions being ignored. And normally, he didn’t care all that much. Most of the time, he just worked around Scott’s idea of what an acceptable plan was. But this was different. This was about Stiles’ father—his only remaining family member. Scott knew that and therefore had no right to leave Stiles in the dark.

“Why not? Stiles used to be the brains behind your plans. With him on board, those plans weren’t just effective, they were efficient. What you’re doing now is neither.”

“Your plan is to call in Stiles, who isn’t even involved and who’s probably pretty busy with his job in San Francisco,” Scott said mulishly, and Peter wanted to shake some sense into him.

“He isn’t involved? His father has gone missing, and you think that wouldn’t concern him?”

“Exactly. It would concern him. But there’s no need for that. I’m sure we’ll find the sheriff soon.”

“You are sure?” Peter asked, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

“We know where he disappeared. We’ll just have to do a thorough search of the area—”

“If you know where he disappeared, you also know he disappeared without a trace. His scent trail ends in the middle of a barely-there path. There are no holes he could have fallen into. Nowhere to hide, either. And the scent of the wolf he was chasing ends in the backyard of a house near the preserve. I’d say he took someone’s car and is long gone. So there are no immediate clues you can follow to find the sheriff anytime soon without some sheer dumb luck.”

“Where did you get all that information?” Liam asked suspiciously from among the other puppies, somewhere behind Peter.

He didn’t bother turning around as he answered. He kept looking at Scott instead so he wouldn’t miss his reaction. “I’ve already been at the scene. I went back after the beta’s scent trail ended and searched the area where the sheriff disappeared again. There’s nothing. No scent, no sound… If I didn’t know better, I’d say magic was involved.”

Ah, and there it was! Just a minute tensing and a sudden air of unease around him. Scott hadn’t thought Peter would come to the meeting prepared. Shows how well he knows me, Peter thought derisively.

“Are you accusing me of something?”

“Yes, Scott, I’m accusing you. Not of malicious intent, if that’s what you’re worried about. But of incompetence. And arrogance.” He glared at Scott when he tried to interrupt him and continued a little louder, “Because with the facts being as they are, you’re making promises you know you can’t keep. Deaton’s currently out of town. So he can’t help you determine if magic is involved. The witch who was with the beta doesn’t talk—not that I’d expect her to help us after she got arrested. And you don’t have any allies who would just lend you a magic user without compensation. You have nothing of value to offer them. Well, nothing of value I’d let you offer them. What other options do you have if you insist on leaving Stiles out of it?”

“Who do you think you are, trying to dictate what I can or cannot do with my resources?”

“Those resources are tied to the land. Which is still Hale land, no matter how long you’ve been alpha. You give anyone access, you give them an in. And if you have any common sense, that’s the last thing you want. Don’t give anyone leverage. With what the territory has to offer, not many people will play fair. And like hell will I sit back and watch you squander something that’s not even yours.”

“I could just ban you from the territory. See how long it takes for it to stop being Hale land.”

“You can try,” Peter said with a mean smile and left it at that. Let the boy’s imagination come up with possible consequences. He didn’t really care because nothing Scott could do, even with Deaton’s assistance, would ever sever his connection to the land. He’d have to renounce all his rights willingly. And that would never happen.

Scott stared at him for another few seconds, seemed to recognize that Peter wouldn’t say anything more on the matter, and decided to change the topic.

“Anyway, we’ll search the preserve ourselves. I’m not just going to trust your word for it when you say there’s no trace. We’ll also do more patrols and talk to the witch that Jordan arrested. I’m sure she’ll want to go free, so we’ll be able to make a deal here. We don’t need any other help. And that’s final.”

Yeah, absolutely not! Peter refrained from commenting on the mighty alpha’s decree. If Scott thought that meant he would obey it, that was solely on him.

In the meantime, Peter would go visit Stiles.

~

Stiles

Stiles was coming home at a reasonable time, for once. His team had wrapped up their latest case two days ago, and now his paperwork was done too. And while a new case could land on their desks at pretty much any time, Rafe had promised them at least twelve hours off. Stiles couldn’t wait to get his shoes and tie off and relax on his couch with a beer and something mindless on TV.

Which was why he felt dread rising in him the moment he saw Peter sitting on the stairs in front of his apartment building.

These days, the two of them were friends. It was hard for Stiles not to become attached to the one who kept him informed of everything that was going on in Beacon Hills. In a perfect world, that person would have been Scott, but they’d lost that closeness before high school had even been over. It didn’t bother him as much as it used to. He was fine with Peter being the spokesman for the pack as long as Scott took care of the territory. But while he spoke to Peter frequently, they rarely saw each other in person. That he was here now…

“Hello, Peter. What crisis brings you to my humble abode?”

“Does there have to be a crisis for me to come visit you?” Peter asked, getting up to let Stiles pass.

That question paired with a far too innocent smile was all the answer Stiles needed. He felt a slight tremor start in his hands. Perfect! There went his relaxing evening.

“No, but since you’ve never visited me before—despite the open invitation, I might add—it’s likely an unpleasant reason that brought you here.”

Peter’s answering sigh spoke volumes.

Once he had his apartment door closed behind them, he fixed Peter with a stare.

“Spit it out. How bad is it?”

“Well, considering the people who are involved… Maybe a medium crisis?”

“And who is involved?” Stiles was getting impatient now. Peter was stalling, so there was a chance that “medium crisis” was underselling the situation.

“Mostly Scott and two members of a slightly less incompetent pack he was negotiating with.” Peter paused and seemed to steel himself. “The negotiations went south, the sheriff’s department got involved… And now your father is missing.”

Whoa! Why was the room moving? Why was it getting dark all of a sudden? Why couldn’t he breathe?

“—iles. Stiles! Focus!”

There was a hand on the nape of his neck and something solid pressing against his forehead that he hazily identified as Peter’s shoulder. The rushing in his ears was slowly quieting down. He was thankful for Peter’s strong grip on him because that was the only thing keeping him upright at the moment.

“What do you mean my father is missing?” he asked faintly. There were too many possibilities, each of them capable of shattering his world if he thought about them too long.

He felt more than heard Peter take a deep, fortifying breath.

“From what I gathered, Scott took Liam and one of the other puppies to the preserve to meet the right hand and emissary of a pack that wanted to negotiate a treaty.”

“From what you gathered?”

“I didn’t know he had arranged the meeting, or I’d have been there, I promise. When they contacted Scott, I told him to be careful. I hadn’t heard of the pack before, so they’re either from farther away or so new they’d gain far more from a treaty than Scott would. I told him to expect an ulterior motive. After that, he didn’t bring it up again. Obviously not because he’d listened to me, but because he wanted to do the exact opposite from what I would do.”

“Obviously,” Stiles sighed tiredly. It had been eight years since Scott got turned, and he still hadn’t let go of his animosity. At this point, there was little chance he ever would. And it didn’t do him any favors.

“So, they met,” Peter continued, “and something went wrong. I heard Liam say that something felt off to him about the two visitors. And when the emissary tried to do something fishy, he attacked.”

“Oh man, I thought he was past his anger issues?”

“The way he talked about it, I suspect there’s more to it. But I haven’t figured out what yet.”

“All right, and how did dad get involved in that mess?”

“Apparently, some hikers heard the commotion and called it in. Since Jordan didn’t know about any scheduled meetings either, they assumed it was a mundane issue and went to check it out together.”

Stiles made an unhappy sound at that. Scott was supposed to keep the territory safe, not endanger the people that mattered to Stiles. Sure, the way Peter was explaining it, Scott wasn’t directly to blame, but still…

“They had to break up a brawl, and Liam’s hunch was probably right because Jordan said the emissary was trying to cast some magic. He got her arrested, but the wolf fled.”

“Let me guess. Dad gave chase?”

“And you wouldn’t have?”

“Touché… Was that when he went missing?”

“Yeah. I followed their trail, and at some point, your father’s just ended, while the other one continued until he must have found a car to steal.”

“Could the wolf have taken him?”

“No, I don’t think so. Unless he found a way to conceal his scent. But since the one magic user in the area was already under arrest, I doubt it. There wasn’t any sign of a fight either. The way it looked to me, he simply vanished into thin air.”

“How?”

“That’s what I was hoping you might be able to find out when you looked at the scene yourself.”

“Why isn’t Deaton looking into it?”

“Haven’t seen him for about two weeks. He’s been gone more often than not lately. No clue what he’s up to or why he thinks Scott’s capable of handling things on his own. Although, if he believes whatever Scott says, then nothing can go wrong in his absence. Scott’s sure he can find your father without help.”

“Is he now?” Something in Stiles grew cold with a sudden sneaking suspicion. Peter had said he was hoping Stiles could figure out what happened. Not we. “Does he know you’re here?”

“No.”

So, that hurt. Despite everything, he had thought Scott’s dislike wouldn’t run that deep. Because what other reason could he have to exclude him? He knew how Stiles felt about family, after all.

“Does he honestly think I wouldn’t want to be there and look for my father myself?”

He was grateful when Peter tugged him closer and made soothing noises. It did wonders for his fraying nerves. And here he’d thought he’d settled into professional mode with admirable promptness. Trust Scott to still be the one who slipped under his guard the easiest.

“Look, I get it,” Peter said. “That’s why I came here despite his orders. If there’s someone who knows how important your father is to you, it’s me. The only reason I can function on bad days is knowing that Derek and Cora are safe and happy. We cherish what little is left of our families.”

One of the things they had bonded over since Stiles had left Beacon Hills. Peter had come a long way that he could admit those things freely now, even if only to Stiles.

“Thanks, really. I mean, I can understand that Scott doesn’t get what that feels like. He still has both his parents, no matter how estranged he is from his own father. But he still should have called me. I have resources. I deal with things like that, and worse, on a nearly daily basis. This is literally my job! And I can hear Rafe already harping about being emotionally compromised. But fuck this! If you’re right, and this is only a medium crisis, we could be done with this in a few days. The sooner I have my dad back, the better.”

“That’s the spirit! If you pack now, we can be on the road in maybe half an hour. Be in Beacon Hills before midnight.”

“I always have a bag ready. We can leave right now.”

Peter smiled at him. “Okay, but I’m driving.”

“What? Why?”

“First, it’s my car. You’re not touching that. Second, you’re far too keyed up to drive safely. I want us to arrive in one piece. Third, if you’re not driving, you can start with your research while we’re still on our way. I can see your wheels already turning.”

“Fine, you win. Give me a second to pack some extra equipment, then.”

“Of course. Want me to carry some of that?”

Did Peter sound fond? Eager, even?

Whatever. Stiles would revisit that thought later. Now he had more important things to do.

Chapter Text

Peter

The first several minutes in the car were eerily quiet. Stiles kept staring at some point on the horizon, his phone loosely held in his hand. Still as a statue. Peter was tempted to turn on the radio just to have something to drown out the silence. He wasn’t used to this version of Stiles. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he preferred him loud and constantly in motion. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why that was. He just knew that it settled something deep inside him when Stiles was being… well, himself.

Then, suddenly, Stiles straightened, unlocked his phone with a sigh, and began to type rapidly. It didn’t take long for the first replies to come in, which prompted more typing, switching between apps, and writing shorthand notes on actual paper. Peter left him to it. If he tried to keep up with what Stiles was doing, he’d be too distracted from his primary goal—which was getting them to Beacon Hills safely.

“Hey, when exactly was that meeting in the woods?” Stiles murmured almost an hour later. It took Peter a moment to realize that Stiles was asking him and not talking to someone on the phone. “Alvarez needs to know.”

“Who?”

“Teammate. She’s looking into some stuff for me.”

“Oh. You’re involving the team off the clock? What will the thorn in your side say?”

“He’d argue that I’m the thorn in his side, but apart from that, I really don’t care about what he’ll have to say. So, time?”

“Yesterday, around sunset. Probably started at 8 p.m., then.”

“My dad’s been missing for almost a full day by now?” Stiles hissed, passing the information along with an angry stab at the send button.

“As I said, I didn’t know about the meeting. Jordan contacted me this morning after he was done with his shift, and he realized that your father still hadn’t brought in the guy that ran. I went to investigate, then went to Scott with what I found, thinking he might not have noticed what had happened, only to crash his pack meeting where they were discussing the aftermath of the botched negotiations. I came straight to you from there. So yeah, it’s been almost a day. I’m sorry.”

Stiles deflated a little. “Not your fault. It’s not like you arriving sooner would have changed a thing—other than distracting me from work—had you actually called me once you were there. Or, worse, before you were there. I might have been able to start researching while still in the office, but chances are I wouldn’t be on my way to Beacon Hills now. Unless I wanted to disobey a direct order, that is. You know how Rafe can be.”

Yes, Peter knew. In the year since Stiles had joined the newly formed, secret supernatural department of the FBI, he had often vented when his superior was getting on his nerves. Which happened frequently and was mutual, as far as Peter could tell.

He was about to comment on that, but a peppy little tune started playing on Stiles’ phone, its display indicating that “Slave Driver” was trying to reach him.

“Speak of the devil…” Stiles rolled his eyes and accepted the call. “You promised us twelve hours. Don’t tell me we already have a new case!”

Peter could hear the offended gasp at the other end of the phone as if the man were in the car with them. “What the hell is wrong with you, Stilinski?”

“Right now or in general?”

“‘In general’ would take too long to discuss. Tell me why you’re having the team work on something that hasn’t passed my desk, though.”

“Emergency.”

“… That’s all you’re going to say about that?”

“For now? Yes.”

The frustrated sound at the other end made Stiles sigh. “Look, Rafe, I know we tend to get on each other’s nerves, but be honest to yourself. Have I ever abused the system?”

“Not for ulterior motives, at least,” the man conceded. “And stop calling me Rafe!”

“Never!” Stiles replied cheerfully.

Peter could hear a sudden rhythmic tap-tap-tap through the phone. Hah! Apparently, someone’s frustration was getting the better of him.

“But this isn’t the first time you refused to follow protocol. And I don’t care for that one bit.”

“It always gets results, doesn’t it? It may be unconventional, but it’s usually for de-escalation purposes. We’re still a new department and figure out fitting protocols as we go.”

“So you want me to believe that you’re on your way to de-escalate now, too?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if that’d end up being the solution to the problem.” Stiles sighed again and continued with far less sass in his tone. “I’d really appreciate it if you could just let me continue for now. I know you don’t like my MO, but this is important to me. Give me a couple of days to see if this needs to be an official investigation. If yes, you’ll be glad to have had a man on scene from the get-go. If not, I’ll use some of my personal days you keep hounding me to take and vow to try sticking to protocol more closely for a while.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice all those qualifiers in that statement.”

“I’m not going to promise something I’m unlikely to be able to keep. So, do we have a deal? I’m not above begging, by the way.”

“Of course you aren’t,” the man sounded resigned, and Peter knew Stiles had him now. “All right. Two days. And not a second longer, you hear me?”

“You got it. Thanks, boss.”

“Don’t call me—”

“Gotta go now. Talk to you later. Bye!”

In the silence after Stiles ended the call, Peter asked, “The Wicked Witch theme?”

“What?” Stiles looked adorably confused for a moment, and Peter couldn’t help but grin.

“Your ringtone.”

“Ohhh!” Stiles sent him a mischievous wink. “Yeah. It was more of a joke in the beginning. It used to annoy him for a couple of months. These days he grudgingly tolerates it, so I’m keeping it.”

“You’re incorrigible!”

“Don’t tell me you don’t approve.”

“I don’t lie to people I like. Not if I don’t have to.”

Stiles’ pleased grin did something funny to Peter’s insides, so he was admittedly a little grateful when a new incoming message had Stiles fixating on his phone again.

The rest of the drive they spent mostly in silence. Occasionally, Stiles would pry him for details—of which he couldn’t provide all that many, unfortunately—but apart from that, there was apparently a lot of reading to do.

Whenever Stiles’ absentminded pencil-tapping took on a frustrated note, Peter would reach over and put his hand on Stiles’ forearm until he had calmed down again. One of those times, Stiles laid his other hand on top of Peter’s, closed his eyes, and just breathed for a couple of minutes.

It was one of the most peaceful moments Peter had had in years.

~

Stiles

True to Peter’s word, they arrived before midnight—with over half an hour to spare, even. And while Stiles had been eager to get here for pretty much the whole car ride, he couldn’t bring himself to move out of the passenger seat now.

The house seemed to loom over him, dark and empty. He knew that there would be nobody to greet him when he went inside. In and of itself, that wouldn’t be a new experience—he had come home to an empty house often enough as a teen. But this was different. This was dragging up all those panicky, urgent feelings he’d buried after the Darach debacle. Funny how more than seven years weren’t enough for them to lose their potency. Shouldn’t he be past all of that? As he’d said earlier, he had dealt with worse on the job.

“Do you want me to go in first?”

Oh! How could he have forgotten about Peter? Glancing to his left and noting the genuine concern radiating from the man, Stiles wasn’t too proud to take him up on his offer.

At his silent nod, Peter took the keys from his limp hand and got out of the car. With every step Peter took towards the house, Stiles could breathe just a little easier. And finally, the moment the hall light went on, he could move again.

Passing the threshold and taking in the familiar sights, he realized just how long it had been since he’d visited the last time. A little over two years now, because even before he’d officially joined the FBI, studying and working for the required experience had kept him too busy. He felt guilty now, even though he had been relieved to stay away during the last few holidays. Not because it had kept him away from his father—never that—but because he had managed to miss the surrounding pack drama. Because there was always some kind of drama. And it involved people he didn’t even really know these days. Of all the pack members from his high school days, only Liam had stayed with Scott. Everyone else had gone to college and just never come back—at least not for good. Like Stiles had. Growing apart had apparently gone hand in hand with growing up. But Stiles regretted now that he hadn’t put more effort into coming by more often. What if his chances to spend more time with his father were gone now?

“Hey, where do you want me to put your things?”

And again, it was Peter who got him out of his downward spiral. Stiles was sensing a pattern emerging here, and he wasn’t particularly fond of it.

“Uhhh… My old room. Unless dad has rearranged things since I’ve been here last, it still has the evidence board.”

“Of course it has,” Peter replied with a little teasing grin but obediently headed up the stairs, ahead of Stiles.

The room was tidier than Stiles remembered it being. And not as dusty as he’d expected either. There was that uncomfortable stab of guilt again that he tried to stomp down as best as he could. Now was really not the time for that. He’d have to focus on getting his dad back and could think about ways to make it up to him later. And he would! No more staying away for so long—video calls were a decent compromise but really couldn’t make up for all the missed hugs.

God, he was a grown man! Why was that still so important to him?

He shook his head and told himself to focus. He had to set up his equipment and transfer all his current facts and clues to the board. “So old-fashioned!” he could imagine Danny saying. Yeah, well, Stiles still worked best with organizing things manually—pinning things, drawing lines, rearranging notes as the investigations progressed… It helped him order his thoughts and notice connections sooner. Danny could laugh all he wanted, but success proved Stiles right every time. Although, to be fair, the huge digital screen in their office was useful, too. Not that he had access to it now.

By the time he had put everything where it was supposed to go and maybe a third of the board had been filled, he was hungry.

“Here, have a sandwich. You look like you need it.”

Stiles would deny it to his dying day that his voice could climb a couple of octaves with the right kind of provocation.

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ! Why did you sneak up on me like that?”

“I didn’t. I went down to the kitchen for a while, made us something to eat, and came back, all without you noticing, apparently. I’ve been sitting here for at least fifteen minutes.”

Stiles would like to argue, but he knew how he could get when he was focusing. Besides, there was food. Food was more important.

“Are you done for now?”

“All set up and ready to get started,” Stiles answered between two bites.

“Allow me to veto that.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s almost one in the morning. You’ve been up all day, and the last few hours have been pretty stressful for you. I’d prefer it if you could get some sleep before you dive head-first into the investigation.” Stiles wanted to protest, but Peter didn’t let him. “Daylight would be much better for a hike into the preserve. And Jordan’s shift changed, so he’s only going to be at the station in about eight hours. He’s probably already asleep as we speak.”

“All right. Fine. I don’t like it, but I can see the sense in your suggestion.”

Peter smirked at him. “You hated every word of that, didn’t you?”

“Don’t be such a smug bastard,” Stiles grumbled. But Peter was right, unfortunately. Stiles felt like every minute was precious and that any delay would cost them dearly. But yes, if he was tired, he wouldn’t be able to give his best. So…

Staring at his old bed, he wasn’t sure how restful his night would be here. The evidence board was only a few steps away, and he would undoubtedly feel its siren call the whole time.

“How about you spend the night at my place?”

When had Peter developed a talent for mind-reading? This must have been at least the third time he had known exactly where Stiles’ thoughts had taken him. He was almost dizzy with the desire to take advantage of the man’s generosity. It felt like he should protest on principle.

“But—”

“No ‘but’! I can guarantee that even my couch is more comfortable than this bed. I meant it when I said you should get some rest. I think some distance will do you good.”

Stiles deflated. He was definitely off his game if he had to have these things spelled out for him. He usually knew better than that. Dragging his hands first over his face and then through his hair, he blinked tiredly at Peter.

“Okay. You win. Again. Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Sure you wouldn’t.”

Stiles grabbed his bag from the bed, sent one last glance to the board, and then determinedly turned towards the door. He’d be back tomorrow—well, later today. For now, though, he would do the sensible thing and let himself be pampered by Peter. He wouldn’t want to get in the way of his wolfy instincts, after all.

Chapter Text

Jordan

Jordan had expected Stiles and Peter to come by the station today, but not that they’d already be there when he arrived. They couldn’t have been there for long, though, as they were still making small talk with Marcie at reception. Small mercies, Jordan thought. Since the sheriff had gone missing, the station had been blessedly calm. Who knew what consequences it would have if Stiles tried to talk to anybody who wasn’t directly involved?

He was about to make his presence known when a deputy on his way out stopped next to them.

“Stiles? Is that you? Haven’t seen you here in ages.”

“Oh, you know how it is. Married to the job. Not a good habit to have, I’m aware—”

“Have you just arrived? Because if you came here first to see the sheriff, he’s not in right now. You might have more luck finding him at home, for once.” When Stiles only stared at him quizzically, he continued with a shrug, “Unless you’re here on official business? In that case, Parrish should be in soon.”

As if hearing Jordan’s name was shaking them out of a stupor, both Stiles and Peter straightened and looked towards the entrance. Jordan noted their synchronicity and blatant relief upon seeing him with interest and a bit of dread. The deputy next to them, on the other hand, just waved a blithe goodbye and continued walking.

“You have visitors,” he told Jordan when he’d reached the doors, and then he was gone.

Thanks, captain obvious, Jordan thought dryly. Oh well, it had been a long shift for the guy. He’d only hold it against him if it happened again.

“Got a quiet place to talk?” Stiles asked.

“The interrogation room is free right now.”

“Gee, way to make me feel like a delinquent.”

“Since neither of us is supposed to have a key for the sheriff’s office, that’s our only option. Unless you want to start some gossip?”

“Are you telling me you have one? A key, I mean.”

“You don’t?”

“Shhh!”

“Exactly,” Jordan grinned and opened the door to the interrogation room. “After you.”

The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Stiles plopped down onto the nearest chair while Peter pulled over another one to sit down right next to him.

“That was weird, right? Even for Beacon Hills.”

“It was,” Peter agreed, eyes narrowed in thought.

But Stiles didn’t even seem to listen, his mind obviously already on something else. He turned to Jordan with a frown. “Who was that deputy anyway? He seemed to know me, but I couldn’t place him.”

“Crawford. New addition around the time you left for college. Your father tends to brag about you, so everybody here knows about you, even those you haven’t personally met.”

“Is the guy always like that?”

“You mean absent-minded and making little sense? No. If he were, he wouldn’t have lasted as long as he did. He did have a long shift, though.”

“I don’t know. Something felt off about him. I wouldn’t necessarily attribute that to exhaustion.”

“No,” Peter said. “It was deeper than that. He sounded as if he was reciting something memorized. A standard message to deliver that he must have subconsciously tried to personalize—”

“Subconsciously?” Jordan couldn’t help but interrupt.

“Yes, that’s exactly what it felt like,” Stiles nodded. “Trying to go by some sort of script. Did you notice how he didn’t even let me get in a full answer? Just bulldozed right over it to continue with his text. His questions didn’t make much sense, as you said. I mean, one would think that if I came here after so long, I would have told my dad. And even if I’d tried to surprise him, the first stop should still have been the house. Right?”

Jordan had to admit that Stiles had a point. He didn’t like it, though. Because that was definitely not like Crawford.

“And then he just decided that me being here for you was fact. It was, but he couldn’t have known that unless you told him you were expecting me. Besides, had he known, his whole speech would have made even less sense.”

“His eyes were kind of unfocused, too,” Peter added.

“Huh. Now that you mention it… Makes me think of a remotely controlled puppet.”

Jordan shuddered despite himself. None of the points that Stiles and Peter were bringing up sounded good. If his fellow deputies were compromised, what did that mean for the sheriff? But as much as he hated the situation, it was much more logical than nobody questioning the absence of their boss.

Peter made a contemplating sound at the suggestion, which caused Stiles to look at him with interest.

“Do you have a theory?”

“Just a suspicion, I’m afraid. We’ll know more once we’ve been to the preserve and you’ve done your thing.”

“My thing, huh? And you won’t share your suspicion?”

“Not yet.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow at Peter. “Fine, be all mysterious for now if it makes you happy.” The flippant remark earned him a light jab to his ribs that he chose to ignore, turning back to Jordan instead. “This wasn’t what we came to discuss anyway. Peter told me everything he found out before he came to get me. And I already have a potential lead on our runaway. Has the witch told you anything by now? A name or two, maybe?”

“No, unfortunately. Her glare could give Derek a run for his money, though. I had her in custody for…” Jordan consulted his watch and stopped short, “… almost exactly thirty-six hours now. Which means she’s been locked up for longer than she should have been. I mean, we know that letting her go is a monumentally bad idea. And I’m glad that none of the other deputies have questioned her still being here yet.”

“Which is super fishy,” Stiles said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m leaning towards that being tied to Crawford’s strangely mind-controlled behavior. But while I suspect magic being at play here, I don’t think it’s her who’s doing it. I’d expect her to do something to get out of here instead of making sure nobody wonders why she’s still being held without a justifiable reason.”

“Not that she could do any magic, even if she wanted to. I left her in the special cuffs to avoid any unpleasant surprises.”

“Probably for the best,” Stiles agreed. “That leaves us with one question: Who else is working with magic around here?”

“No idea, I’m afraid. As far as I know, Deaton is the only magical resident in town. When he’s not off doing whatever, elsewhere. And I haven’t heard of any visitors or passing travelers with enough magic to play with several people’s minds. Although… Someone with enough power to do that can possibly conceal themself and their machinations, too. So, who knows who is here and what their plans are? I don’t.”

Stiles shot Jordan a horrified look. “Thanks for bringing that possibility up. Now I can’t help but think of all kinds of worst-case scenarios.”

“Sorry?”

“I don’t think there’s a reason to let your imagination run wild, Stiles,” Peter said calmly. “You have magic yourself. Whoever is messing around here is likely still not a match for you.”

“Which isn’t as much of a reassurance as you probably intend it to be. I’d feel much better if we knew who or what exactly we’re dealing with.” Stiles sighed and visibly put the thought aside in favor of the previous topic. “Since the witch hasn’t said anything, what has Scott told you? I do want to add some names to push the investigation forward.”

“The witch goes by Jacky. We know that because the runaway wolf was calling out to her when I arrested her. Scott only knows the last name of the alpha.”

Stiles stared at him, his mouth moving as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide on the words. After a deep breath, he finally managed, “You’re joking, right? It’s not a good joke, but tell me you’re actually joking!”

“I’m afraid not. All we know is that he got contacted by the Miller pack, that the right hand and the emissary would be sent for negotiations. That’s it. Although I highly doubt the alpha was truthful about his pack members.”

“What the hell was Scott thinking? Some stranger asks for favors, and he just agrees without asking questions? I… You know what? Nope! I’m not going down that rabbit hole. Scott didn’t want me here anyway. So I’m going to ignore his involvement for now. It’s not as if he was involved beyond letting strange pack members into his territory and could contribute anything useful to the investigation.”

“His territory, right,” Peter muttered angrily under his breath, which Jordan caught, but Stiles apparently didn’t.

Huh! Jordan had known that Peter had been chafing under Scott’s rule, but the wolf had never before shown his disdain this openly. If Scott wasn’t careful, he might have a rebellion on his hands soon. Jordan wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“So we essentially have nothing much yet, apart from the vague whereabouts of the runaway and half of two names,” Stiles concluded after a moment. “That’s far from ideal.”

… What?

“How did you manage to track down the guy so fast?” Jordan wanted to know. He’d been trying to dig up as much information as possible yesterday, without much luck, after all.

“After you confirmed Peter’s escape theory and which car the man chose, I had my team look into camera footage in the area. They were able to get a first sighting the next town over and have been able to trail him northwards. Last I heard, the car was sighted close to the border to Oregon. Still the same driver, too. So we’re reasonably sure we’re trailing the right guy. Two of the team have been going after him. Once they’ve caught up, they’ll bring him here. It’s closer than headquarters, which is probably the only reason the boss okayed it.”

“I’m kind of envious of the resources you have access to,” Jordan admitted. That, and not having to heed county jurisdictions. Because if the guy had headed to Oregon, he would have crossed into the next county pretty fast. No wonder Jordan hadn’t been able to find him.

“Doesn’t change the fact that he’s now hours away from here, and it’ll take time to bring him in. I hate having to wait. And running his face through the databases hasn’t brought up anything either. So until he’s here and we can question him, there’s nothing else we can do, no matter how fancy our equipment is.”

“Well,” Peter jumped in, likely sensing Stiles’ rising frustration. “In that case, nothing is stopping us from going to the preserve now.”

“Right. Not sure if that’ll keep me busy for hours, but anything is better than just twiddling thumbs. Let’s head out then.”

And all of a sudden, Jordan was alone in the room. Wow! If that was what working with Stiles was like on a regular basis, he had some sympathy for McCall senior. Just a little.

Oh well, since Stiles was right and nothing else could be done, for now, Jordan would let the two other deputies on shift take care of the daily business. In the meantime, he would keep track of the patrolling pack to make sure they didn’t run into Stiles and Peter. Because he had a feeling that wouldn’t end well at all.

~

Stiles

Walking through the preserve gave Stiles a strange kind of déjà vu. It was almost as if he’d never left Beacon Hills, but he felt off-kilter because the details didn’t fit anymore. It had been a while since he’d truly missed Roscoe. But here he was—on his way to the site where his father had disappeared, having been a passenger in Peter’s fancy car until about fifteen minutes ago—ready to shake out of his skin. Only because he hadn’t been able to ground himself on his late jeep’s still familiar sounds and handling. Being back “home” was making him revert to old habits and depending on rituals he thought he’d long since gotten rid of. It was an unpleasant realization to have when he needed to be at the top of his game.

He was so caught up in his head that he almost swung at Peter when the man put a hand between Stiles’ shoulder blades. Would you look at that? Another thing that was off, to add to the others. On top of missing his car, he was missing his bat now, too. What the hell was wrong with him?

At least Peter’s hand creeping upwards and settling heavily at the nape of his neck made Stiles’ breathing start to slow down again. Not something that would have worked eight years ago, he thought, darkly amused. But it was a good reminder that all that time had passed. He had several advantages over his past self now, and it was time to apply them to the situation!

Starting to walk again, he didn’t protest Peter’s hand settling against his lower back and staying there. Gentle pressure applied every once in a while steered him off the path and through the trees far more efficiently than words would have. It made him realize how scarily in tune he was with the wolf at his side.

When exactly had that become a thing, by the way? It couldn’t have happened over the emails and calls they’d exchanged over the years. That had been good for building a solid friendship, but the physical distance between them would have prevented any actual bonding, wouldn’t it? Could it have happened during the Wild Hunt, and he simply hadn’t noticed until now?

“We’re here,” Peter interrupted Stiles’ train of thought, raising an eyebrow at him when he froze.

“Huh…”

Now that he was paying attention again, he noticed an odd layer of magic coating everything in this area. Faint, still, but starting to draw him to a spot near a crooked tree. He took a few steps towards what he supposed was the epicenter of a magical outburst. The closer he came, the more his skin tingled, and not in a pleasant way. He was half-convinced that sparks would fly if there were any metal around that he could touch. If this was what was lingering after more than one and a half days, someone powerful must have visited the tiny clearing. Powerful enough that Stiles immediately dismissed the thought that Jacky could have had anything to do with it.

There was a trace of witch magic in there somewhere, though. Too faint for someone like Peter to pick up on it, despite being attuned to all kinds of magical energy. It didn’t belong here, which likely meant that this was Jacky’s. She was definitely a witch then. So, if she really was the Miller pack’s emissary, she wouldn’t be a good fit. Witches were too focused on their craft and their kin to aid non-witches the way an emissary needed to aid their pack.

“What’s the verdict?” Peter asked, sounding immensely curious.

“The runaway dragged Jacky’s magic out here with him. Not sure why it clung to him like it did, but I’d guess she had some kind of spell on him.”

“To what end?”

“Tracking? Power boost? Suppression? Who knows? Could be anything. I’m not the witch expert on the team. We usually consult with a friendly coven near Seattle if we need in-depth knowledge.”

“Will you need to contact them?”

“Nah. She’s never been here in person, so I doubt she has anything to do with why dad’s gone.”

“Is she free to go, then?”

“Hell, no! I’m still going to let the team take her with them. She’s probably got enough other skeletons in her closet to warrant a thorough investigation.”

“If she’s a bust, what else do we have? Something still feels strange here, but I can’t put my finger on what it is.”

“Is it the same feeling you had when you came here first?”

“I’d say so. It’s fainter now, but it’s unsettling. Do you know what it is?”

“Stronger magic than Jacky’s. Older, too. And this one does belong here for some reason.”

“That’s not very reassuring. Because there are only a few reasons I can think of for Old Magic to linger here. Dealing with any of them would be tricky.”

“Hmmm, what bothers me just a bit is that I’ve come across this kind of magic before. Not that I identified it as magic back then because the circumstances were quite different.”

“Different, how?”

“We were investigating a highly technological clusterfuck last year. Like all kinds of nightmarish machinery, hectically blinking lights, and hundreds of cables connecting odd bits and pieces. A huge generator in the middle of the room, powering an electrical field that made me feel like I’d be shaking apart any moment. When we got the generator shut down, the residual energy felt pretty much like what we have here. But I thought that was just my body being oversensitive after the field broke down. Medical evaluation afterward found nothing to worry about, so I put it out of my mind.”

“Might have been worth it to look into it in more detail, though.”

“Yeah, well… We had no reason to assume that something untoward was happening there. Apart from a mad amateur scientist thinking he’d be able to open a portal to another universe, that is. And that would have been impossible with his setup, we’ve been assured.”

“And how did they know it’s impossible?”

Stiles couldn’t help but grin at Peter’s very audible skepticism. He still didn’t seem to trust anyone’s word without proof.

“Apparently, the power needed to create a stable portal would exceed what the guy had available by far. If we ever get to the point where we can expect to successfully connect to another universe, it won’t be a one-man job using homemade equipment.”

Peter sneered at that, and Stiles couldn’t help but tease: “What? Is the multiverse too scientific for a guy who’s spent most of his life surrounded by magic?”

The grimace he got in reply gave him an epiphany. “Oh! So, what bothers you more about the concept? That there might be a version of you out there who has a better life? A worse one? That in a similar world to this one, you might not even exist?”

“It’s the endless possibilities,” Peter confessed. “The only way I could finally start moving on after the fire was by letting go of the what-ifs. It was far from easy because they were so persistent, even though they did nothing but slowly drive me insane again.”

Stiles had to admit that Peter had a point there. He had come dangerously close to falling prey to various what-if scenarios himself. The one thing that had prevented him from trying to research topics like somehow finding an alternate reality or how to travel to the past was his fear of making things even worse. But…

“If it helps at all, I think that the chance of connecting to a universe that’s similar to ours is far lower than finding one that’s so vastly different that we wouldn’t be able to live there anyway.”

“Probably depends on which theory you support.”

“I’m not a physicist. I’ll leave that stuff to people who have actual expertise in this. Back then, it was enough for me to get told that from a scientific point of view, the guy had no chance of succeeding. Now though…”

“Now you think he was onto something, don’t you?”

“It certainly looks like it. But whatever he was doing, if it attracted magic like that, I’m not sure he’d have liked the outcome. I mean, if he’d managed to open a portal via magic, who knows where it would have led?”

“Theoretically, if the multiverse exists, magic could be a viable way to access it, so maybe he could have gotten his wish.”

“Yeah, or he could have unknowingly summoned a great evil.” Stiles paused and wondered how plausible his next thought was. “Or the presence of the magic was just a coincidence.”

“But you don’t think it is. I don’t think it is, for what it’s worth.”

“No, we don’t tend to be that lucky.”

Peter stared off into the distance, looking uneasy. “To summarize,” he said after a moment, “we have an as-of-yet minor problem with a likely opportunistic pack. And there’s the significantly larger problem of the Old Magic that shouldn’t be here but belongs for some reason, and which is almost certainly responsible for taking off with the sheriff. We think they’re unconnected, don’t we? Because of the power difference in the magic?”

“Yeah. That’s my current working theory. It’s not ideal. I want to dismiss the pack as inconsequential to be able to focus on what we have here. But I don’t think I know enough about their motives to dismiss them outright.” Stiles sighed and ran a hand through his hair in his frustration. “I wish I could talk to Liam without Scott learning about it. The way you described his reaction to the… uh… visitors, he could probably give us some valuable insight.” He sighed again and added, a little petulantly, “Pack politics are the worst.”

“I wouldn’t say this is a case of pack politics,” Peter replied, bumping his shoulder to Stiles’. “That’s just you not wanting to deal with Scott. Not that I blame you.”

“Gee, thanks!”

Peter winked at him and thankfully changed the subject. “So, we’re done here, right? Anything else you want to do while we’re out and about?”

“Not particularly. I had half a mind to go see the meeting place, too. But as I said, I’m no expert in witch magic, so I don’t see how that’d help us. And this place is creepy. I’ll be glad to leave it behind for now… Is it just me, or is it really completely silent here?”

“It’s not just you. Even I can’t pick up any sound that doesn’t come from the two of us. Can’t smell anything either. And I haven’t felt the slightest gust of wind since we arrived.”

“And here I thought I might be imagining things. But that’s odd. It’s almost as if this place is in some sort of stasis.”

Peter shot him a worried look. “I can’t say I like what all these details add up to. I keep discarding possible causes, and it’s becoming increasingly likely that the answer will be my least favorite outcome.”

“Which is? You said you’d tell me once I did my thing.”

“I said we’d know more. And we do. But as I’m still clinging to the hope that I’m wrong, I’d rather not say yet. Because there are vastly different approaches to solving this, depending on what we’re dealing with here. And it might involve having to call in favors.”

“Which you’d prefer not to lose over a potential dead end. Fair. Let’s hope the runaway has seen anything worthwhile and can be persuaded to talk.”

“Let’s,” Peter agreed. “Do you know when he’ll arrive?”

Stiles checked the time and groaned. “A couple more hours at least. God, I hate that he made it so close to the Oregon border before we found him. I hate waiting.”

“You may have mentioned that before,” Peter said with a wink. “But that gives us some time to have an extended lunch.”

“Trying to distract me with food, are you?”

“Got any objections?”

“Not if you pay. And supply curly fries.”

“Deal,” Peter agreed readily, as if that had been his intention all along. As if Stiles hadn’t made the demand just to be obnoxious.

Warmth was spreading through his chest and maybe even up to his cheeks. Whatever, he thought. Peter couldn’t see it, having started to walk back the way they had come. And hopefully, he was also already far enough away not to pick up any other hints. He didn’t have to know about Stiles’ unexpected case of feelings.

The sudden ringing of his phone distracted Stiles from his musings, and he let out a heartfelt groan at the familiar tune. He really didn’t want to take the call, but he also didn’t want to give the man even more reason to be annoyed with him.

“Hi, boss,” he chirped, not quite capable of suppressing the quip. Despite the current circumstances, this habit was too deeply ingrained in him. “What’s up?”

“Take a guess, Stilinski!” Rafe growled, and Stiles would be impressed if he weren’t too busy trying to come up with some kind of misdirection. His two days weren’t over yet, after all. But Rafe didn’t seem to be too interested in his answer because he continued without giving him a chance to answer. “I didn’t say anything when I learned just where you’ve gone. Figured you’d either want to consult or get some information there. But you’re actually interfering in a local investigation… In a case which anyone with some common sense would remove you from because of your personal involvement. Why the hell do you think what you’re doing is a good idea?”

“Oh, you’re really not going to like my answer,” Stiles replied, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Because I don’t think you want to hear that Scott’s carelessness is responsible for the way things escalated here the other day.”

“What does Scott have to do with the sheriff going missing? As far as I know, everyone minds their own business over there.”

“Yeah, well, if everyone actually were minding their businesses, this approach might have worked. But it backfired spectacularly because someone thought he could neglect his duties. You know what? I’ve forwarded all we’ve found out so far to the team. Let them explain to you how Scott’s connected to the pack we’re investigating. Fair warning, though. You might not find much common sense involved there. This is the first time I wish he were a bit more like you. And let me tell you how disconcerting that is after I spent all of my teen years being glad he was nothing like you.”

“How dare—”

“Sorry, boss,” Stiles interrupted the incoming rant. “I’m a little frustrated right now, so I got more sarcastic than I meant to be. But the fact remains that I haven’t even been here for a full day yet, and you’ve promised me two. I do know that under ideal circumstances, I could let someone else do the investigation, but I can only fully trust two people right now. And I’m the only magic user here, so I can’t just sit back and hope for the best.”

“The only— Huh? What about Deaton?” Rafe asked, sounding suspicious.

“He’s been out of town for a while, according to Jordan. Besides, when has that man ever willingly parted with knowledge? He wouldn’t be much help, even if he were here.”

“Point taken.” If Rafe’s sigh was anything to go by, he hated having to agree with Stiles. “But, for the record, I really don’t like you leading the investigation. Make sure you keep yourself in check.”

“This is Beacon Hills, Rafe,” Stiles reminded him. “I may have been absent for a while, but I still have a reputation here. And dad’s been bragging, I’ve learned today. You won’t hear any complaints from the locals.”

“And how about from the suspects?”

“I’ll only be talking to one of them. If my hunch is correct and he’s got nothing to do with dad’s disappearance, I’ll treat him as a witness. I’ll leave it to the others to play bad cop once he’s at headquarters.”

“See that you do. And keep me updated.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Stiles chirped again. “TTYL!”

A moment later, he slid his phone back into his pocket, satisfied he’d gotten the last word in, and jogged up to where Peter was waiting for him. Free food, here I come!

~

Danny

Welcome to Beacon Hills.

It had been roughly seven years since Danny had last seen this sign. Back then, he’d thought he’d never see it again. Not that he’d been sad about it, like, at all. But three years ago, he’d run into Stiles again. And considering their chosen careers, from that moment on, it had only been a matter of time until something happened that’d bring him back.

To be fair, it had taken longer than he’d expected it to take. And he also hadn’t needed to come this time. He could have let someone else go after their runner. He was mainly the tech guy, after all. But late last night, Alvarez had been asked to consult with a case that might have ties to one of theirs. Hartgrove’s son had a recital tonight that he didn’t want to miss. Plummer had volunteered to assist Alvarez on the tech side. Edwards was currently returning the stolen car. And… who was he kidding? If he’d really wanted to avoid coming back, he could have easily switched with Plummer. The guy had more field experience than him and wouldn’t have minded.

But Danny had been curious, maybe morbidly so. The only people he’d stayed in contact with after leaving hadn’t been in Beacon Hills for years, either, after all. Stiles didn’t count because while the guy could talk, he rarely said anything about what and who he’d left behind. So, what better opportunity would Danny get to have a look and leave again before the day was over?

That he had a recalcitrant wolf in tow was suboptimal, though. Because while the back of the car was lined with mountain ash that kept his passenger contained, the incessant fidgeting and intermittent growling from behind him were getting on Danny’s last nerve. And to think that he’d have to drive the bastard to San Francisco after Stiles was finished with milking him for information… Stiles was going to owe him. Big time.

The closer he got to the sheriff’s station, the more restless the wolf became. When they passed the building, though, Danny caught the confusion and growing suspicion on his face in the rearview mirror. Good! If he was off balance while they talked to him, there was a chance he’d give away more than he would have otherwise.

The next ten minutes or so were quite amusing to Danny. The sheriff still lived in the house he’d bought with his wife, its backyard reaching the treeline of the preserve. Which meant that the closer he got to his destination, the more it must seem to his passenger that the woods were where they were headed. If the increasingly nervous twitching was anything to go by, the wolf had started to wish they’d actually gone to the station instead.

Danny was waiting for the relief to take hold when they’d park in the Stilinskis’ driveway. It’d be short-lived, for sure. Stiles was on a mission, and from what Danny had gathered, he had potentially menacing backup, too. Evasion tactics wouldn’t work for long.

And then they were there. Danny stared at the house for a moment and had to battle the feeling of having traveled back in time. He still remembered the last time he’d been here. The house had looked the same—maybe a little less in need of a paint job as it was now, but otherwise… Well, this time, the Hale in Stiles’ company wouldn’t be “cousin Miguel” at least. No time like the present, though, so he pulled the key from the ignition and got out of the car.

The wolf tried to bolt the moment the car’s mountain ash barrier broke. Danny let him, knowing he wouldn’t get very far. It was satisfying to see him freeze not even four steps away from the open car door when the perimeter wards activated. Even without having magic himself, Danny was able to feel the sudden swell of energy around them. It was a level or two above the kind of wards they regularly encountered in their line of work. Newer, too. Maybe a bit overkill for any other urban setting, but unsurprising, considering the circumstances and Stiles’ understandably renewed paranoia.

The front door opened, and Danny pushed the wolf in its direction. Once they were through, it closed again, and only then did Danny notice Hale standing beside it. The guy still had a penchant for lurking, then.

The wolf in front of Danny tensed, and the moment Hale said “Follow me!” and disappeared down a narrow staircase, he started twitching as if he wanted to run. Again. Someone here was obviously not too keen on facing the consequences of his actions. Too bad for their perp that Danny’s sympathy had limits. And those had been reached the moment his stomach had almost gotten swiped by five claws when they’d arrested him earlier today.

At the bottom of the stairs, there was a narrow corridor with two doors—one to the left, which was closed, and one to the right, which opened to a dimly lit room.

Danny’s eyebrows rose once they were inside that room and the door clicked shut behind them. This was an interesting setup. There was only one chair, placed in the middle of the room under a naked light bulb. The chair’s back was facing the door. Stiles was leaning against the wall directly in front of them while Hale had taken position on the left side of the door. The wolf would have a hard time trying to get away from them once he’d sat down because there was no unobstructed escape route.

“Have a seat,” Stiles said in a surprisingly pleasant tone.

Nothing happened for a moment. It took a faint growl from Hale to make the wolf comply. Only then did Danny step back to stand on the right side of the door.

“Thank you.”

Stiles was smiling kindly now, and Danny had to admire the facade. There wasn’t even the slightest hint of impatience in his demeanor—at least to Danny’s human senses. Then again, Stiles-in-professional-mode had become one of the calmest people Danny knew, even under pressure.

“Now,” Stiles continued after a moment. “I’d apologize for the unusual location, but under the current circumstances, this is the safest place for you to be.”

The wolf snorted at that and almost immediately flinched when Stiles raised an eyebrow at him.

“You don’t believe me? Hmmm, I guess I can’t exactly blame you. But there’s not much I can do to reassure you, unfortunately. Would introductions help? I’m Stiles Stilinski. FBI agent and son of the local sheriff.”

Whoa! Danny had known that the wolf was jumpy, but at Stiles’ announcement, he jerked so violently he almost toppled over with his chair.

“It wasn’t me!” he exclaimed in a panicky whisper-shout and tried to make himself smaller than he was.

“Oh, I know that much. You’re not here on kidnapping charges. You’re here as a witness to my father’s disappearance.”

“As a witness?”

“Unless you were lying just now?”

“No!”

“Then yes, this will be an interview instead of an interrogation. Perfectly harmless, as long as you’re honest. And while we’re talking about honesty, I’d like to know your name now.”

“What for?”

“For the record, of course. The literal one. You do realize that this is a federal investigation?”

Well, not officially. Not yet. Not that the wolf knew that. But Danny was fairly sure it would be one soon. Depending on how this… interview would go, McCall senior would likely want the matter to be dealt with as permanently as possible since Scott was involved, somehow.

“Then I want my lawyer here.”

“Do you even have one?” Stiles asked, doubt dripping from every syllable. “Look, I’m not sure why you’re this defensive over your name. What are you afraid of? That we realize you’re America’s most wanted? I kind of doubt you’re that important.”

Ohhh, that seemed to have wounded the wolf’s pride. His offended huff was loud enough that even Danny had no problem hearing it.

“So?” Stiles prompted.

“… Kevin.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What’s your last name? Please refrain from making me impatient!”

“Smith,” he finally relented.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, what were you and Jacky doing in the preserve two days ago?”

“You don’t know?”

As far as Danny could tell, Smith’s surprise was genuine. And considering how much time had passed already, his question was fair, too. Not that it would throw Stiles off.

“The best way to figure out the truth is to listen to everyone’s story, don’t you agree? People don’t have hive minds and therefore tend to remember things differently. And I want as many details as possible. So give me your take on what happened.”

“But why is it important to know what we were doing there? That’s got nothing to do with the sheriff.”

“And how can you be sure of that? The way I see it, he wouldn’t even have been in the preserve if it hadn’t been for you and Jacky.”

“That wasn’t our fault! We didn’t start the brawl. Maybe you should ask McCall why he didn’t control his beta.”

“Is your short-time memory broken? I said I want all the perspectives. And now it’s your turn.”

Smith stubbornly kept his mouth shut—at least until Hale started growling again.

“We were there to talk to Alpha McCall. First stage of negotiating a treaty. See if there’s any interest… if we’d get along… We didn’t expect any hostility.”

“Why was your alpha not there, then? Your pack isn’t well-known in Northern California. Etiquette demands that for first contact, the alphas talk.”

“Rob was on the phone for over an hour for first contact. And he has other obligations right now.”

What a load of bullshit! It was the same drivel Scott had told Hale and Parrish. When Danny had heard it the first time, he hadn’t believed it, and he didn’t believe it now either. But it was unlikely that they’d get more out of Smith than that. The narrative seemed too set for that, no matter how far from the truth it so obviously was. And who knew? Maybe Smith didn’t know any better. If his pack was new, if he was new, he might not ever have learned how pack relations worked.

It was only then that Danny realized what exactly Smith had said. He had named his alpha! Still not much to go on, especially since Rob might be short for something. But together with Smith’s name and half of Jacky’s, they might be able to narrow down their search. He sent a quick text to Plummer and then tuned back in to the conversation.

“—so you ran and left your pack mate behind.”

“What else was I supposed to do? I wouldn’t have been of use to her anyway if I’d been arrested, too.”

“Since you’re saying you had no ulterior motives, it didn’t occur to you to stay and explain the situation? You’d have been free to go in short order.”

“The sheriff would have believed us over McCall?”

“If your story checked out? Sure.”

Danny couldn’t see Smith’s face, but his answering silence had a decidedly sulky air to it. Outstandingly mature of a man of at least thirty! And another clue that his story would not check out.

“Be that as it may, you ran,” Stiles said after a while. “What happened then?”

“The sheriff chased me… Is he on steroids or something?”

“What? No. Not that I know of.”

“Maybe he just never told you. He was fast. He shouldn’t have been able to keep up with me.”

“Because he’s human?”

“And old.”

“He also knows the preserve better than you do,” Stiles pointed out, ignoring Smith’s provocation.

“That’s not it, though. He got faster instead of slower the longer we ran. That’s not normal, is it? And the way he went poof wasn’t normal either.”

Both Hale and Stiles straightened at that. Smith was finally getting to the relevant part, then.

“He went poof?”

“Yeah, kind of. Everything went bright and staticky for a bit, then it looked like someone was reaching for him, and then he was gone. Just like that,” Smith said with a snap of his fingers.

“You’re saying someone else was in the woods with you?”

“Looked like it, keep up! There was no solid body. Just something like a shadow. But it did reach out as if it had arms. And when it touched the sheriff, everything disappeared. I mean, not everything… But the glow, the static, the shadow, the sheriff… The sound, too, and the scents. It was totally creepy, so I didn’t stick around. Seemed safer for me to ditch town.”

“Without your witch.”

“She’s not mine. And she can hold her own. She’d probably have called me an idiot if I’d come back for her. Wouldn’t have been able to get her out without being caught. Risk was bigger than the gain.”

“Not that it helped you much, seeing how you got caught anyway,” Stiles said, with the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. “Although that’s odd, isn’t it? You had a headstart of over a day, and yet you hadn’t even reached Oregon. You could have been long gone. Why weren’t you?”

“Thought I was out of reach the moment I left the county. I didn’t expect the FBI to get involved.”

“So, either your research wasn’t thorough enough, or you haven’t been told everything.”

Smith mumbled something angry-sounding that Danny didn’t catch but made Stiles raise an eyebrow and look intrigued.

“That’s unfortunate,” Stiles said, casually starting to walk around Smith’s chair. “You might want to evaluate your options in the near future, then. But for now, thank you for your cooperation.”

“So I can go now?”

“Ah, no. You can’t. While my part is done, my team is still interested in your pack’s dealings.”

“What? No!”

“Sorry to disappoint. You’ve been helpful, and I promise that it will be taken into consideration. But how all of this ends is up to what you’ve done until now and what you decide to do, going forward. As I said, evaluate your options. You can start right now while I’ll go talk to the others. Stay put, please.”

At that, Hale opened the door and motioned to Danny to go ahead. Hale followed, then Stiles, who closed the door behind him.

“You’ll just leave him alone? Is that wise?” Danny asked, a bit confused.

Stiles grinned sharply and said: “He won’t get far. I’ve trapped him in a rather small circle of mountain ash.”

Oh, so that was what Stiles had been doing a couple of minutes ago. Not really standard procedure, admittedly, but clever anyway, in this case. What was one more non-standard procedure in the grand scheme of things? Nothing about this had been done following their somewhat established protocols since Stiles had called them yesterday. Danny wouldn’t complain, really. The more pragmatic approach had gotten fast results, after all, just like it had back in high school. It almost felt a bit nostalgic.

And shortly after leaving the basement, there was another blast from the past. Because Stiles had led them up to his former bedroom. It looked different from that one time Danny had been here before. Same furniture, but arranged differently. No decal and no posters on the walls, but a sizable evidence board in the far corner. The board was currently in use, he saw, containing all the info they’d been able to find until now—and a bit more. There was a section about the preserve that Danny hadn’t heard about yet. What he didn’t see in the room were enough places to sit down on. There were a chair and a small space on the bed that weren’t occupied by printouts or Stiles’ travel bag. The living room might have been a better choice for temporary headquarters.

He said as much, but Stiles only shrugged in response and kept adding notes to his clue collection.

“It was convenient when we arrived yesterday. The board has been up here for years. Didn’t feel like hauling it down the stairs. And it’s safer this way, too. Potential visitors won’t see what we’re investigating and what we’ve found out. And it’s also the farthest room from where we’ve stashed Kevin.”

“What kinds of visitors are you expecting?”

“Pack, maybe. Although only Scott feels likely. And the way things are at the moment, I’m not inclined to involve him.”

Yeah, that much Danny had gathered already. It still felt strange to imagine that those two weren’t even friendly anymore, though.

“Apropos pack,” Stiles continued, looking at Hale and Danny both. “Do you think there’s something fishy about the Miller pack, too? Or, even fishier than they’ve been before? What’s up with those names?”

Hale nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised if all of their names turn out to be fake. Not necessarily new, though.”

“Not new? What does that mean?” Danny asked.

“I’m thinking they might have been using aliases for a while now. I wouldn’t know for what reason, but those blatantly generic names don’t feel like they’re coincidence.”

“As if they banded together and everyone picked names as bland and common as possible,” Stiles agreed. “Better to escape notice that way, I guess.”

Very likely, Danny thought, but… “Makes me wonder what they’re hiding. It’s almost certain now that they’ve been lying to Scott.”

Hale scoffed. “Nothing almost about it. Beacon Hills, or rather the preserve, has valuable resources.”

“That’s got to do with the ley lines, right?”

“Among other things. And upstarts like Miller tend to think they’ve got a right to help themselves. The territory appears to be easy pickings at the moment. Not that our esteemed True Alpha knows he’s not being taken seriously by the community. He’s too convinced he’s the ideal protector for the Hale lands.”

“You really think that’s their goal? Taking over the territory?” Stiles asked, sounding worried. “How likely would they be to succeed?”

“If left to Scott and his puppies? They’d have a very decent chance, I’d say. The only reason they haven’t already is because Liam got suspicious. I haven’t paid him much attention before, but now? I think he might be the only one in the pack who’s actually worth something. Not that he alone would be able to do much against a double threat.”

“He wouldn’t have been alone though, would he? It’s not like you’d have sat back and let the Miller pack do as they wanted.”

“Let’s not talk about what could have happened. We got involved just in time, and their plans fell through. I don’t think Miller will try again right away. It’s too risky until he has more intel on the new situation.”

“Unless he’s a moron. Which, to be quite honest, I kind of want him to be.”

Danny winced at how vicious Stiles sounded all of a sudden and decided to join the conversation again.

“Are you sure you’d want him around before you’ve found your father, though?”

“Well, no. But moron or not, he can’t teleport, can he? I’m sure we’d have enough time before he becomes a problem again.”

“Are you trying to jinx it?” Danny wanted to know, and Stiles laughed.

“I’m not that superstitious. But you’re right, my father’s still missing. And we have more clues now. Let’s talk about that.” Stiles paused and intently stared at Hale for a moment. “Are you finally willing to share your theory?”

Hale smirked at Stiles, and Danny sensed a story there when Stiles rolled his eyes in response but looked vaguely fond anyway. It was curious. Usually, he didn’t like it at all if someone kept information from him.

“Abduction by fae,” Hale answered. “Which I’d been hoping wouldn’t be the case since there shouldn’t be any fae connected to the preserve.”

“We’re dealing with the fae? What kind of fae?”

Good question. Danny hadn’t had any personal contact before, but Hartgrove had told them a few of the stories his grandmother used to tell him that had made the whole team shudder. Things could potentially escalate quite badly if one wanted to retrieve someone who’d been claimed.

“I’m fairly sure we’re not dealing with the Unseelie Court. Breathe, Stiles.”

“Easy for you to say! It’s not your father who’s in another realm right now.”

“True, but your father should still be fine if he’s either with the Seelie Court or one of the smaller communities. And besides, time flows differently in their realms. Chances are, he hasn’t been gone long yet. Which means the fae wouldn’t have had much time to do anything too damaging yet, either.”

“Says you. What makes you so sure we’re not dealing with the Unseelie Court anyway?”

“Remember the Wild Hunt?”

Stiles shuddered and paled. “Unfortunately.”

“And did the magic in the preserve feel even remotely like what we encountered in that station?”

“… No. Okay. Point taken. But does it actually increase our chances for success? Or does it mean that we’re just not facing almost certain, gruesome death if we fail?”

“I’m not sure. As I said, the preserve hasn’t had any fae connected to it for a while. I know there’d been an active treaty when my mother was young. But that community left before I was born. Before Talia was born, even. And I don’t think we’ve ever been told why. We’ll have to see if there’s any info in the old journals in the vault.”

“How can you be sure it’s the fae at all?” Danny couldn’t help but ask. Maybe Hale and Stiles were worried for no reason. Then again, this was Beacon Hills. Even if it turned out Hale had guessed wrong, it didn’t necessarily mean that the real answer would be better.

“Several reasons. The first clue was the strange behavior of the deputies, Jordan not included. They don’t seem to have realized their sheriff is missing. And they have set explanations for his absence that they can’t have come up with themselves because there’s little logic to them. Yet, they’re convinced of their truth. This kind of mental manipulation would be easy for the fae.”

“Too easy,” Stiles agreed bitterly. “I guess we should be happy that this time nobody actually forgot.”

“Yeah, but can’t witches do the same thing? Get into people’s minds like that, I mean? You have a witch at the station. Maybe she’s involved.”

“Witches can do the same,” Hale said. “But it takes a lot of time and energy that she didn’t have. And the timing is off, too, since her magic was sealed shortly after her arrest. Unless she had friends lurking in the preserve, she’s got nothing to do with it. Besides, the way Kevin described the abduction, it can’t have been witch magic. Anything that flashy would just take extra energy. If you don’t have a large, appreciative audience, you don’t go all out on the effects. It’s not worth the magical exhaustion.”

“And there’s no other explanation?”

“Not if we look at all clues in combination,” Stiles answered, sounding resigned. “The situation in the preserve matched our portal case too well.”

“Matched? How?” The implications of that were just a bit terrifying, Danny thought.

“Same energy signature. Like, my reaction to the residual magic was exactly the same as back then. Which really makes me glad we stopped that experiment when we did.”

“Okay, so… You’re dealing with the fae, and they’re trying to ensure your father won’t be missed. How likely is it that you can make any kind of contact with them?”

Stiles started looking anxious again, but Hale gave him a reassuring smile before turning to Danny to answer.

“I have resources. An extensive library right here in Beacon Hills. And international contacts, should the library fail us. I’m sure we can find a way.” He paused and addressed Stiles next. “There’s a chance we’ll have to talk to Scott soon, though. Because while we’ve had no resident fae for decades, the pack has dealt with a small delegation seeking access to the Nemeton a few years ago. I’ve been told by Scott and Deaton both that the matter had been dealt with, that the fae were denied access to the territory as a whole and that they wouldn’t try asking again. I assumed that meant they’d be gone. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but none of my patrols since then have brought up anything untoward. That’s the main reason why I held back my theory for so long. It shouldn’t have been the fae.”

Hale looked annoyed now—if at the pack, at himself, or at both, Danny couldn’t tell. But something about the story bugged him.

“Shouldn’t you have been able to identify their magic after you met the fae?” he asked. After all, a werewolf’s senses were superior to human senses, weren’t they?

“I didn’t meet them, though. I was in Europe at the time because an old friend was cashing in a favor. I only heard about it after my return, and by then, it’d have been too late to pick up anything of use, even if wolves were more sensitive to fae magic than we are. Usually, there’s a base understanding between shifters and the fae. There don’t tend to be any direct dealings unless there’s a conflict of some kind. We stay out of each other’s way as much as we can.”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed at that.

“There are currently six wolves in the territory, not counting Kevin. If you usually keep your distance, why would they want to stay?”

“As long as they stay in their realm, the distance is great enough. Might be that they hadn’t needed to venture out since then. I wish I knew the exact wording of the rejection. Making a portal on pack lands—or not removing it—after having been shown out would be an act of aggression that they should want to avoid. Unless they found a loophole. Which is more likely than I want it to be.”

Danny’s phone vibrating in his pocket at that moment was probably a good thing, as it distracted Stiles from his mounting anger. To be fair, this kind of bullshit had been why Danny had been glad to leave Beacon Hills behind. And—as a look at the message he’d received confirmed—he’d thankfully be gone again in under an hour. He wasn’t sorry at all that he’d miss all the coming action.

“Edwards just wrote that she’s finished at the station. Had the car returned to the owner and got a good look at the witch. She recommends we take two cars back, though. Both of them in one car together doesn’t strike her as a good idea. Me neither, to be honest. So, Edwards had Parrish arrange a ride for her. A guy named Crawford is supposed to come along, not just to bring the car back, but as some kind of experiment or something?”

“Ohhh, good idea,” Stiles said. “Tell her to keep us updated on him. Might help to learn how far the fae’s influence reaches.”

“He’s one of the deputies, then? Will she be safe with him and the witch in one car?”

“Should be. Apart from Jordan, the whole station is manned by perfectly ordinary humans. Have you dealt with Crawford before, Peter? Do you know if he’s on the calmer side?”

“I see him around town, sometimes. That’s been it for the most part. But he doesn’t strike me as erratic, so I’d trust Jordan’s judgment on this.”

Danny’s phone vibrated again. And… yeah, that did it. Time to go now.

“Edwards also says that Scott came by the station to talk to the witch. Parrish was keeping him busy while she finished the transfer paperwork. Apparently, he has left now and is on his way over to have a word with both of you.”

Stiles groaned in response. “Well, that takes that decision out of my hands. Sounds like we’ll be having lots of fun soon. Let’s get you and Kevin on the road. Maybe you’re lucky enough to be gone already when he arrives.”

Danny was more than happy to go along with the suggestion. No need to become involved in high school drama, after all. Give him the normal insanity of an investigation any day!

Ten minutes later, just as he was leaving, he saw Scott jog up to the house in the rearview mirror.

He’d buy Edwards an exotic plant for her collection, he decided, as thanks for the nicely timed warning. She had earned that—and his eternal gratitude—for sure.

Chapter Text

Sheriff

Noah woke up propped against a tree and immediately wished that he were still unconscious. Everything was too bright, too intense. Just… too much.

Pressing his hands against his eyes and taking a deep breath, he tried to figure out what had landed him in this situation. He was drawing a blank at first. And then a headache started to bloom at his temples.

Had he had too much to drink last night?

No, wait… He hadn’t!

The last thing he remembered was being in the preserve and running after a suspect.

A wolf. A coward… A surprisingly slow, cowardly, suspect werewolf. He’d been able to keep up with him. Gain on him, even. Had managed to catch up and had been this close to arresting him for…

What for? There’d been a brawl, right? Hikers had called it in. Liam had been involved. And another stranger. And Scott.

That had been a surprise.

The strange wolf had taken off the moment he and Jordan had announced their arrival, and Noah had followed, almost purely out of reflex. He didn’t even know who had started the fight. Maybe it hadn’t been that wolf? But then, why had he run?

As Noah couldn’t find an answer to the question, he switched his focus to getting up on his feet. It took him a while, with his eyes still firmly shut and his hands feeling weak against the bark of the tree. It’d been years since he’d felt like that. Last time, he’d had a bad case of the flu, though. This had to be something else entirely.

He groaned as his headache spiked. There was no way he’d let go of the tree anytime soon, then. Leaning forward to press his forehead against the rough bark in an attempt to center himself, one question kept circling in his mind: What the hell had happened?

“You’re awake,” a dreamy voice suddenly announced from somewhere behind him.

Noah’s eyes snapped open as he whipped around—

Owww! He almost went to his knees as the bright ambient light hit his retinas. His skin began to tingle madly, and vertigo took hold of him.

Someone gripped his arms to keep him upright. It made the tingling intensify to an infernal itch. He wanted all of it to stop!

He ripped himself loose, stumbling backward until his shoulders bumped against the tree. That only added to the sensory overload, and he wondered how much more of it he could take.

“Oh no! I didn’t mean to startle you,” the dreamy voice declared mournfully. “Let me make it up to you.”

The speaker didn’t wait for an answer, immediately brushing something cool against his forehead. He would have protested if he didn’t instantly start to feel better. Whatever was touching him now was soothing instead of jarring, leaving him blessedly numb.

It effectively incapacitated him, too, but it wasn’t as if he could have fought back anyway had this mysterious person decided to attack him instead. So much for his experience with high-stake situations.

“You can open your eyes now.”

Could he? His headache was better, but was he willing to risk it? He wouldn’t be able to stand without support, that much he knew. Would getting input from his surroundings overwhelm him again?

“I promise you that it’s safe,” the voice cajoled, as if the person it belonged to could read minds. His inner five-year-old wanted to disobey just because. There hadn’t been an order in anything the voice had said, but the feeling of being humored—coddled even—was grating on his nerves.

He was an adult, though, wasn’t he? He knew how not to be petty. So he worked against his first impulse and opened his eyes.

~

Scott

Scott had been fuming on his way over. But upon nearing the sheriff’s house, he was startled to see a familiar face disappear into a dark SUV and drive away. He stared after it with narrowed eyes, wondering what Danny of all people had been doing here of all places. Shouldn’t he still be in Hawaii? If Scott remembered correctly, he’d had sworn he’d be gone for good when he’d left town. And yet, apparently, here he was—getting involved in whatever Peter had started to stir up when he went behind Scott’s back and brought Stiles to Beacon Hills.

What a mess! It was probably high time that he put the man in his place once and for all. Exiling him sounded more and more like the best solution to the problem. It wasn’t like he was cooperating with the pack anyway, always looking to undermine him in front of his betas—

“Hello Scott.”

It took more effort than he’d like to admit not to jump at the sudden presence of another person behind him. He managed to turn around with enough poise that nobody would know he was startled, though.

The sight that greeted him at the sheriff’s front door was both expected and… not. Of course it would be Stiles standing there. But the few times he’d tried to imagine what Stiles would look like these days, this was not it. The man in front of him was a weird mix of a total stranger and the friend he used to have a long time ago.

It was disconcerting to see the plaid over a surprisingly plain T-shirt instead of the suit he somehow had expected any FBI agent to wear. The bags under Stiles’ eyes and the disheveled hair reminded Scott of the worst phase of their high school years. The stubble didn’t, but it completed the appearance of exhaustion. And yet… There was a confidence in Stiles’ stance that he’d lacked back then, just like his voice and expression had never been this neutral or his heartbeat so steady.

The latter was rather disconcerting. Scott was used to people giving away more than they thought they did through countenance and tone and other bodily cues—even those who did their best to control themselves because they knew he had heightened senses.

If he didn’t know better, he’d almost believe this new and “improved” Stiles was an impostor. But he did know better. Because no matter how much of a liability Peter usually was, his obsession with Stiles was reliable. If this was who he brought back to Beacon Hills, it was, without a doubt, Stiles.

As much as Scott didn’t like this development, he still needed to put both Stiles and Peter in their place. So he took a determined step forward—and was almost immediately stopped.

Stiles’ eyebrow rose—Scott’s hackles, too.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded, feeling oddly betrayed. He didn’t really understand why since it fit with the general theme of Stiles’ current visit.

“This,” Stiles replied, still far too calm, “means that the wards consider you a threat. Either to me or to Peter. Doesn’t matter much to me which of the options it is because right now Peter and I are a package deal.”

“You seriously think I’m more dangerous to you than Peter?”

“Haven’t you listened? The wards I put on the property keep out danger to me and mine. If you can’t enter, then that’s only because you wish one or both of us harm in one way or another.”

Scott had to wonder about the wards’ definition of danger and harm, then—or just how paranoid Stiles had to be that he thought the wards were needed in the first place. They were making things more difficult right now, in any case.

“So you want to have this discussion out in the open? I didn’t think you cared so little about our need for secrecy.”

“I’m not hiding behind the wards. I can make exceptions as I need,” Stiles said, and just a moment later the barrier that had kept Scott rooted in place disappeared.

It still felt like moving through molasses as he made his way to the front door and then into the house. Only when the door closed behind him could he breathe a little easier.

“What’s the point of establishing the wards if you’ll let people through anyway?” Scott couldn’t help but ask as his composure returned.

“Warning, of course. Now that I know of your intent, I can keep an eye on you. One toe out of line, though, and you’ll be outside again before you can blink.”

“You really want to start this with a threat?”

“I hate to resort to the children’s way of argumentation, but: You started it, Scott. You set the tone when you decided to come here in bad faith. I do hope we can have a civilized conversation despite this unfortunate start, though.”

“That depends on you, doesn’t it? Or rather, it depends on your explanation for why you’re interfering with local matters.”

Stiles took a deep breath, let it out slowly and had the gall to look disappointed.

“Local matters that involve my father. Local matters, also, that have not been made much progress on by the locals. Or are you about to tell me you’ve found him?”

“So you think you have the right to roll into town and take over without even announcing your presence?” Scott asked, talking over Stiles’ jab at the end.

He shouldn’t even be surprised, really. The grandstanding and condescendence were the MO of every FBI agent he’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. His own father included. Stiles had used to hate that attitude too, once upon a time, but he’d obviously learned from the best here, hadn’t he?

“You made it very clear you didn’t want me involved in your matters,” Stiles answered in that tone that kept grating on Scott’s nerves, “so I stayed out of them. Doesn’t mean I don’t want my father back as soon as possible, though. And I did announce my presence. To the local authorities. Which, in the sheriff’s absence, is the senior deputy. It’s all in accordance with the regulations. I’ve been working with Jordan on this, and he’s been happy to have help and access to our resources.”

“You’re interfering with pack business!”

Was that so hard to understand? Stiles hadn’t been part of the pack for a long time, by his own choice. He had no right to come back and act like the last few years hadn’t happened.

“Let me ask you a few simple questions, then. One: Do you remember that my father decided to take a step back from the supernatural?”

“Yes.” Of course he did. What was the point of this question?

“Two: Do you remember your promise when that happened?”

“What?”

“Wrong answer,” Stiles sneered, but continued before Scott could protest. “Correct would have been ‘yes’—because I still remember how you promised to take care of all non-mundane things unless they were major problems that you needed help with, and that you would do everything in your power to make sure my father didn’t come to harm. You didn’t just promise, you swore it. So, three: How was it possible for him to disappear on your watch?”

“It wasn’t on my watch. He went missing when he was nowhere near me or the pack.”

“Oh? And that automatically makes it not your fault? That’s not how responsibility works, Scott. You’ve been an alpha for almost eight years now, you should know better.”

“Well, your father is a grown man, isn’t he? Who am I to tell him what to do? You might remember that it was part of the deal that I involve him as little as possible. That’s what I’ve been doing.”

“If you think about it logically, you’ll realize that this doesn’t mean to keep him completely uninformed. That’s an accident waiting to happen. And now that accident has happened.”

“But—” Scott tried to object, not that Stiles let him.

“Don’t get me wrong. I can understand you not wanting to involve him. Plausible deniability, and all that. But you went behind the backs of three people here, and that’s what makes it hard for me to accept.”

“Three?” What the hell was Stiles talking about? It almost sounded like he expected Scott to ask permission for anything he did from half of Beacon Hills. Preposterous, really!

“My father is one. As I said, I can understand that to a certain degree. Peter is the second. He cautioned you against meeting with the Miller pack, and you decided not to heed his warning. I’m disappointed about it, but considering your history with Peter, I’m not surprised. You have absolutely no excuse for not telling Jordan, though. Who’s the third person you willfully left in the dark. That’s what I don’t understand. Neither is he an ordinary human nor do you have any differences with him. So what’s your excuse?”

“Parrish isn’t part of the pack. And, as I’ve said before, that meeting was strictly pack business.”

“Since when are my father and Jordan psychic?”

“What?”

“You heard me! How were they supposed to know which areas to avoid so they wouldn’t accidentally interfere if you didn’t tell them? You wouldn’t even have needed to give them specifics. A simple ‘stay away from the preserve tonight’ would have sufficed.”

“And have them ask follow-up questions? No, thank you. I chose a place in the middle of the preserve for a reason. How was I supposed to know some hikers would stray that far from the main paths?”

“That’s the point though, isn’t it? You couldn’t have. Most of the preserve is publicly accessible, even off the main paths. But even so… just because there’s no path, doesn’t mean a more adventurous hiker wouldn’t attempt to go there. Unlikely, sure. But not impossible. Remember what landed us in all this mess? Did we care for the hiking trails?”

“Things have been calm here for years. No hikers getting lost in the preserve off the trails, no sign anywhere that people got off the main circuit. So when we set up the meeting place, we made sure to be nowhere near any of the marked paths. Nobody should have been near enough to interfere.”

“But they didn’t need to actually come across you, did they? All it took was them hearing noises of a fight. Those noises carry, by the way. You don’t need heightened senses or any particular closeness to pick them up even as a regular human.” Stiles paused to sigh and run a hand through his hair. When he continued, he sounded so much like a concerned, caring parent that Scott felt unbearably patronized. “I’m not saying it’s bad that they made an emergency call. That way you got backup before things could escalate even more. But if even just Jordan had known what to expect, they’d have been prepared for supernatural shenanigans and that chase might never have happened.”

“Are you implying that I couldn’t have handled the situation without backup?” That insinuation rankled more than any of Stiles’ previous accusations. Scott wasn’t a teenager without a clue or experience anymore. He knew how to handle trouble. Chances were that, without the interference, nothing would have escalated.

“The way Jordan talked about it, you were this close to being blindsided by a spell. The Miller pack came to you with ulterior motives. Which you weren’t prepared for. So things could have gone a lot worse… Why did you trust their word so easily, by the way? You didn’t even have sufficient information on them.”

What was Stiles talking about now? He had to be making that up because there was no way it was true.

“I had all the information I needed,” Scott argued, hating how defensive he sounded. It wasn’t like he was accountable to Stiles of all people. “They came vetted. There was no reason at all not to trust them.”

“Okay then, I’ll bite. Tell me what you know about them. Start with the names.”

The demand was another low blow. It was rather easy to resent Stiles for it, too. But Scott was getting tired of constantly being doubted. Maybe if he gave Stiles something, he’d be busy for a while and keep his nose out of everything else. A guy could hope…

Besides, the names were harmless enough—they wouldn’t reveal any pack secrets. And Stiles was right about one thing at least: They had acted suspiciously. He wouldn’t care about their fate if it turned out they really had wanted to cross him.

“Alpha Miller,” he said. “His emissary, Jacky. His right hand, Caden… I think.”

“And?”

“What else do you want to know?”

Was Stiles never going to be satisfied? Would he keep thinking there was more when there really wasn’t? He’d become quite the paranoid bastard, hadn’t he?

“The pack isn’t just three people strong, is it? People with only half a name, may I add. So, how many people would you have to deal with if the whole pack decided to make a move? What is everyone’s full name?”

“I told you!”

“You really didn’t.”

Huh… That… That couldn’t be right, could it? Stiles’ tone begged to differ, though, and for the first time today, Scott was uncertain. He could accuse Stiles of many things, but pettiness over something that could easily be disproved? Not so much. So… Why was Stiles so convinced Scott was holding back information? Or, worse, that he didn’t even have it?

“And who vouched for them?” Stiles asked without waiting for a response.

Scott was just about to answer when he had to pause. Did he know the answer? A few seconds earlier, he’d been so sure he did. But now… Could it be that his memory had been tampered with? If so, there weren’t many ways to do that—that he knew of, at least.

He couldn’t help but shudder when his mind immediately went to the memory of claws being pressed to his neck. There was only one person around here he thought capable of that feat, though. And Peter might even have a motive…

“You don’t know, do you?”

Stiles’ whole demeanor changed with that question. His eyes were narrowed as he stared at Scott, but his annoyance was gone. There wasn’t even suspicion in his expression anymore. Instead, he looked thoughtful. Assessing. It made Scott’s skin crawl.

“Yet another mystery,” Stiles murmured. Then, louder: “I wonder how it fits into this whole mess. Might be witchcraft. Might be something completely unrelated… Then again, with our luck, it’s probably not unrelated.”

“Our luck?”

“Well, you know, everyone with ties to the supernatural and to Beacon Hills. Which includes you and me. Trouble tends to find us and follow us home. Why would this be any different?”

Well, Scott would like to disagree here. He remembered the time when the situation had been exactly like Stiles described, but things had been quiet for years now. Apart from a minor hiccup here and there, sure. But pretty smooth sailing, compared to their time in high school. If he had to name a trouble magnet, it’d definitely be Stiles.

“Anyway,” Stiles said, unsubtly changing the topic, “I have an investigation to get back to. Are we done here?”

Like hell was he letting Stiles off the hook that easily!

“No! Because you’re still interfering. Parrish refused to let me talk to the emissary. How am I supposed to get relevant information like that?”

“You are a civilian, and this is an active investigation. You have no business interrogating a suspect. But even if it weren’t against regulation, do you really think you’d have been able to make her talk any more than Jordan did?”

“He doesn’t even know which questions to ask.”

“If that’s true, then it’s your own fault. It’s not like you’ve cooperated since your meeting went south. Besides, the information you’re looking for can’t be that important. Because if it were, you wouldn’t have waited this long to pay a visit to the station. It’s been more than a day since you said you were planning on talking to her. What took you so long?”

More than a day? Surely, Stiles had to be exaggerating. It couldn’t have been that long! They’d been out in the woods the whole time. The lack of sleep and food would have clued them in long before twenty-four hours had passed. But a look at his watch made him realize that Stiles was right. It was disconcerting that he hadn’t noticed before. Although… This wasn’t actually the most important detail, was it?

“Your father’s still out there in the preserve. That he hasn’t made it back home on his own means he’s most likely hurt or lost. Or both. Looking for him took precedence.”

Stiles didn’t seem to like Scott’s explanation and immediately started trying to poke holes into it: “As far as I know, you’re no closer to finding him than you were yesterday. Has looking for him stopped being a priority for you since then?”

“Of course not! That is why I came to the station. I’m sure I’d have been able to learn some useful details. Get a more precise search radius, for example.”

“How? It’s not like she would know about anything that happened after she was arrested and escorted to the station. She hasn’t been in contact with anyone from her pack since then.”

“She’s a magic user. There are several ways for her to find out more than non-magical people would.”

“If she were able to use magic right now, sure. But she hasn’t been since she was brought in.”

What the hell? This was the first time Scott had heard of this as Parrish had obviously and conveniently neglected to mention it earlier. And Stiles sounded far too blasé about it, too—as if there wasn’t anything wrong with what he’d just said.

“What have you done to her?”

“Nothing permanent, don’t worry!” Stiles shrugged, not even the slightest bit worried. “She just doesn’t have access to her magic for now. Simple precaution. Appropriate, too, considering the fact that she’d tried to work against you. There’s no way that Jordan would have risked her using magic on him or any of the other deputies at the station. Surely you can see how that would have been a bad thing?”

“Does the block on her magic impair her in any other way?”

“Like what?”

“Like gaps in her memory or slowed down mental processing?”

“No.”

“Then I still want to talk to her. She has more reason to be honest with me than with you,” Scott countered. He was absolutely sure about that, too. In his experience, people tended to trust civilians a lot more than they trusted law enforcement—and rightfully so. The chances of her opening up about the incident would be far higher if a civilian was asking the questions since it wouldn’t be an interrogation with the sole purpose of detaining a suspect.

“I don’t see how. Everything we’ve found out so far suggests she would happily lie to your face. The whole pack is highly suspicious. I wouldn’t be surprised if we ended up finding some of them in the system.”

Say what now? With every overly casual word out of Stiles’ mouth this whole messy matter got even worse!

“You’re involving your team?” Scott asked, surprising himself with how calm he managed to sound when all he wanted to do was shout and shake some sense into Stiles. “This is a supernatural matter! I understand that you want your father back, but that’s no excuse for risking exposure!”

“Really, Scott? You know perfectly well who my superior is. You know that he knows. Even if everyone else in the team had no idea the supernatural exists, no sensitive information would ever leak to the public. You might not have been in contact with your father in years, but he’d still never endanger you.”

“If everyone else had no idea? Are you telling me your team knows?” Oh, look! There went Scott’s miraculous composure as they were rapidly nearing nightmare territory… “Why the hell would you tell them? They’re FBI agents!”

“So are your father and I. What’s your point? And the only reason the others are in the know is because they’ve had ties to the supernatural even before they joined the team. All of them are aware of how important secrecy is. That’s why the team—an entirely new department even—exists in the first place. To keep supernatural crimes out of mundane law enforcement’s jurisdiction. Our first priority is the community’s safety. So, yes. Of course, I involved the team. Increases the chances of not just getting to the bottom of this, but also getting to it fast.”

“None of them are pack, though!”

“You keep saying that. But no matter how often you repeat it, it still won’t magically be true. The whole matter reached past your little circle of friends the moment the police got involved. And it’s gotten even bigger since then. Because while the Miller pack is bad news, they have nothing to do with my father’s disappearance. So we have at least one other party involved whose motive we don’t know yet.”

At least one other party? Scott wanted to ask what that was about, but Stiles kept talking without so much as taking a breath.

“The Miller pack is the FBI’s problem now. You dodged a bullet there, I’d say. When we figure out what their plans were, we can let you know, though. The rules for supernatural investigations are a bit different from the mundane ones. Traditional pack laws might be applicable, meaning you might have a say in the sentencing.”

“Are you sure that your team isn’t just a bunch of corrupt agents? Because that offer sounds more than a little sketchy to me.”

“Again, this is not a mundane investigation. Human law can’t account for instincts and other special needs. Adjustments had to be made since the supernatural department’s been set up. Things would be far more sketchy without those adjustments.”

“And I’m supposed to take your word for it, just like that?”

“You can always talk to your father. As one of the founding agents of our department, he’s the most reliable source of information for you. Although you might want to wait a little. He’s somewhat displeased with the situation over here, and both of us, right now.”

“Why with me?” Scott could understand his father disliking something Stiles had said or done. That had used to be the status quo whenever Stiles had come over before the divorce, after all. And again, later, during the whole nogitsune debacle. The two of them working together was probably only making the problem worse. But it made no sense at all that his father would have any complaints about Scott when there’d been radio silence between them for so long.

“Because Beacon Hills isn’t a stable territory right now, even though it should be. Ideally, my presence here wouldn’t have been needed because you would have taken care of it in a timely manner. And regulation says I shouldn’t even work on this case because it’s too personal for me. But learning how you’re connected to the Miller pack—and that you hadn’t wanted any law enforcement getting involved despite the sheriff having gone missing—got you on his shit list, as well. There’s a chance you’ll be off the hook sooner than I’ll be, though, simply because it’s been your first offense.”

“You went to him and blamed me for what happened? Wow! That’s a lot more childish than I expected from you.”

“I didn’t really need to. I admit I was pissed enough earlier today that I did point my finger for a moment. But Rafe doesn’t tend to take my word without proof. So he went through the file we’ve put together since last night. Got a few strongly worded messages while I was out for lunch because of it.” Stiles rolled his eyes as if it hadn’t been his own actions that ended up inconveniencing him. But then he shrugged and continued: “I’m not sure what he dislikes more: That he can’t blame me for my ‘rash’ decisions the way he wants to, or that I’m here because your handling of the situation was officially deemed unsatisfactory. And now he’s technically too close to the case, as well. So, there you have it. One miffed RAC, who wants this matter dealt with as soon as possible.”

“In that case there’s a simple solution: You stay out of the preserve and let my pack and me continue the search for your father. These days, we know the preserve far better than you do and you’ll keep your professional distance. That way, we can expect results the fastest.”

“Allow me to doubt that. It’s been… oh, look at that… almost twenty-eight hours since you started looking for him. I already have proof that magic was involved. I also know that Deaton hasn’t been around in a while, so you have nobody to help you on that front. What’s that about anyway? He’s your emissary. He shouldn’t leave you to your own devices for weeks on end and do whatever he’s been doing elsewhere. That doesn’t sound like the man who’s always been so loyal to you.”

“He has his reasons. And before you ask, yes, they’re valid reasons and yes, they’re for the benefit of the pack. But that’s all I’m going to tell you about it. Besides, why would he need to be here all the time? An alpha who depends too much on magical aid isn’t much of a leader. Alan’s experience is valuable, but I haven’t been a teenager in need of constant guidance for years now. And we don’t permanently have one crisis following another anymore. We’re fine.”

“Except when you aren’t. You were in negotiations with a pack who brought their alleged emissary to the meeting. Logic says your own should have been present, too.”

“Why? We had an advantage over them already because we were an alpha and a beta. There was no need to create an even greater power imbalance.”

“And yet they almost managed to take you down.”

“They wouldn’t have. I had the situation under control. The chaos only started when the so-called help arrived.”

“It took them about twenty minutes to get there,” Stiles pointed out, as if he thought that Scott was missing something important. If he thought it’d make him feel stupid, it wasn’t working.

“So?” Scott asked anyway, deciding to play along for the moment.

“So, a fight that lasted long enough for hikers to notice it and call it in, and for police to be on site before the situation was resolved, doesn’t sound like it was under control.”

Scott felt his earlier uneasiness return, and he hated every second of it. Instinct told him that Stiles was only here to make trouble. The problem was just that his argument was starting to sound reasonable again. And things Scott hadn’t even thought about in detail before suddenly had rather alarming implications.

What was going on here? Could he blame it on Stiles’ magic and Alan not being around? Could the wards he was currently surrounded by be tampering with his perception? Something was utterly wrong here, but he couldn’t be sure what exactly it was.

He didn’t want to blame Stiles for all of this, even if only for old time’s sake, but it was getting harder not to. Almost all evidence pointed to him. After all, things had become more than a little complicated right after he had returned. Although…

Hadn’t it already started sooner? The moment Peter had decided to contact Stiles against Scott’s orders?

Yeah. Yeah, it had. Which reminded him of the resolution he’d made when he’d come over—

Before he could voice his suspicions about Peter and what he was planning to do about it, though, Stiles’ phone announced an incoming message. Stiles opened it, eyebrows rising as he read, and then he fixed Scott with a calculating stare. It made Scott feel irrationally and uncomfortably guilty.

“Rafe wants to talk to you pronto—his words, not mine, in case you’re wondering. Apparently, the team dug up some information about Miller that he needs your input about.”

“And how does he suppose I do that?” Scott asked dismissively.

“He said you know his number. It hasn’t changed since the last time he was here.”

“Wasn’t that his private number? And why does he assume I’ve kept it this long?”

“Don’t ask me. I don’t talk to him about family. Neither mine, nor yours. So I wouldn’t know. But I can always give you his official number if you prefer to go the formal route. Just make sure not to ignore him. Because the alternative is either you having to go to San Francisco via order or him coming to Beacon Hills. I can’t imagine that either of those options appeals to you. Besides, if you still want to talk to that witch posing as an emissary, you’ll have to go through him anyway.”

“Why, though? Why do you insist on playing by the rules now?”

“Because even though your father is one of the most important agents in the department, he still has superiors of his own. He can’t just do as he pleases. But also because Jacky is getting transferred to San Francisco as we speak. Rafe’s order, by the way. Don’t shoot the messenger!”

Oh, really? The timing of that transfer was highly suspicious to Scott. He couldn’t help but think of the lost hours in the preserve, and of the fact that Stiles was a magic user—the only one in town right now, but also the only one around who’d been able to use magic since he’d arrived. It wasn’t too hard to see a connection there, especially considering the way he’d gone behind Scott’s back on purpose the whole time.

He was about to voice his misgivings, but was interrupted by the doorbell. It was sudden enough that he couldn’t suppress a flinch. It earned him another raised eyebrow from Stiles that he ignored in favor of a more pressing issue: How had he not sensed anyone approaching the house? There hadn’t been any warning. No sounds, no scents… nothing.

And yet, Stiles opened the door to let Parrish in—Parrish, the hellhound, whose proximity Scott should have felt simply because of his hellhound nature. But he hadn’t, and that worrying fact only increased his suspicions about Stiles. What would Stiles’ reasons be for muting Scott’s senses like this? Was he hiding something from him? Someone else in the house, maybe?

Wait a minute!

Where was Peter? Stiles had all but admitted that Peter was here when Scott had come in. But now that he thought about it and actually focussed on locating the man, there was no trace of him anywhere.

Had Stiles lied?

… Nah! It was far more likely that Peter was cloaked somehow, the way Parrish had been. But why? It wasn’t like Peter knew that Scott was planning on finally putting him in his place, so he must have had another reason. Simple eavesdropping? Something more sinister?

In any case, Scott felt like he needed to get out of the house now. He hadn’t gotten such a strong sense of helplessness in years and it was shaking him to his core. Where was the confidence he’d gained over the years?

There had to be a magical reason for his mounting dread! But he was aware that he would neither be able to find the source of it nor neutralize on his own. And as much as he hated it, retreat was his only realistic option for now.

How to do that without appearing weak in front of potential enemies, however?

Stiles was still talking to Parrish—about one of the other deputies if Scott understood it correctly. As if that was the most important thing to pay attention to…

Kind of rich of Stiles to criticize Scott for having wrong priorities when his own skills in that area weren’t that great either, wasn’t it? He’d appeared to be so anxious to get his father back, earlier, but all of that seemed to be forgotten now. Were the FBI’s investigation methods already so ingrained in him that he’d lost his ability to spot the easiest approach? An approach, mind you, that Scott had laid out to him only minutes before, only to be ignored.

Well, that would be the perfect reason for leaving, then: If Stiles’ number one priority wasn’t the search for the missing sheriff, it would keep being Scott’s.

Not that Stiles focusing on minor leads was necessarily a bad thing. Scott didn’t want him to be out and about in the preserve anyway. Who knew what kind of mayhem he’d manage to cause there, either accidentally or on purpose? Might be best to just let him continue chasing after inconsequential details.

“Hey, I have somewhere else to be soon, so I’d better get going,” Scott said during a short pause in the hushed conversation across the room. There, that was nice and casual—perfect for covering the myriad of conflicting feelings inside him.

Stiles sent him such a piercing stare in response that it was hard to keep up his unconcerned demeanor, though.

“There was nothing else you wanted to discuss?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

Stiles stared at him some more, but nodded after a couple of seconds.

“All right. Don’t let me keep you. Guess we’ll see each other around soon.”

Unfortunately so.

Scott fervently hoped that there wouldn’t be any accidental encounters until Stiles left again, and that potential on-purpose meetings would be kept to the absolute minimum. The last thing he needed was a repeat of whatever this weird encounter had been.

When he stepped out onto the porch and the front door closed behind him, the oppressive feeling was back. But his time it was less like walking through molasses and more like something was subtly but insistently pushing him forward, which he gladly went along with.

He stumbled as he breached the outer edge of the wards because there was the tiniest amount of resistance that abruptly gave way when he applied a little force. So, his exit might not have been the most elegant, but being able to breathe freely and have all his senses back was compensation enough.

And he immediately felt like he could think more clearly again, too. As he put more distance between himself and the house with its hidden occupant, his mind helpfully went back to his earlier train of thought.

He’d always known that Peter was working against him—pretty much from the moment Scott had become a True Alpha while Peter himself had remained a beta. So… just how far back could all of this have started? Earlier, he’d thought the real trouble had begun with Stiles’ arrival and the start of his investigation—shortly after, that it had to have been Peter’s fault, somehow. Peter had been rather insistent about involving Stiles yesterday, after all. Could it have been because he’d had a plan in motion that he needed Stiles for? In that case, Stiles might not even be in on it, and Scott’s ire might have been misdirected.

Maybe the sheriff’s disappearance wasn’t as random as Stiles thought it was. It could very easily have been arranged by Peter, just to give Stiles an incentive to return when nothing else had managed to do that in years.

Maybe…

Maybe things had started even earlier than that, though. Much earlier. Like, as far back as their high school years… It made an alarming amount of sense because the rift between Stiles and Scott had started to form around the time Peter had dragged everyone more or less directly into a world where running for your life was a daily sport.

If that was true, Scott knew he’d have to be very careful about proving it. Because Stiles—and even Parrish, at this point—wouldn’t be easy to convince.

First, he’d have to find the sheriff, though. It’d serve a double purpose: Stiles would be grateful to have his father back, and probably more likely to listen to Scott afterwards. And with the sheriff being back, there would be no need for an ongoing FBI investigation anymore, meaning that Scott could go back to ignoring his own father’s existence. A win-win situation, if you asked him.

Decision made, he headed back to the preserve. With any luck, things would be back to normal again by this time tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Peter

“So… Can we agree that Scott’s compromised, too?” Stiles asked as soon as he and Jordan joined Peter in Stiles’ room.

“Oh, he definitely is,” Peter agreed, leaning back in the only chair and drumming his fingers on the desk in thought. “But differently. He’s been off for far longer than the deputies.”

“Would you say that too, Jordan?”

“Maybe? He’s not very rational right now, but I don’t talk to him often enough to know how recent that development is.”

“I’d say he’s been like that for years. But he’s been worsening over the last couple of months or so. I didn’t think much of it at first because he tends to react badly to almost anything I do. And since I took care of a brewing problem earlier this year more permanently than he liked, he’s been contrary ever since. But in hindsight, I’d say it was around the time Miller first contacted him that he became really unreasonable.”

“Could it still be fae magic?”

“Depends. If they’re the same ones who asked for access to the Nemeton, then I’d say no. They’d want a stable territory so that the Nemeton would thrive and steadily share its power. An incompetent protector means easier access but at the price of catching the attention of competitors.”

“Which means it’s possible but unlikely that they’ve been influencing Scott… unless they’re not interested in the Nemeton. Maybe they thrive on destruction instead.”

“Which may very well be true, but then I wouldn’t expect the fae to be at fault.”

“Are you implying there’s a third party involved?”

“I’m implying that Scott could just be ‘like that’ without any external input. As I said, his behavior’s been off for years. I’d go as far as claiming he’s never been different. But that would be guessing, as I’ve never met him before the fire.”

“Oh, in that case, I’d be tempted to blame you,” Stiles quipped, which caused Jordan to raise his eyebrows and Peter’s breath to catch for an almost painful moment.

He knew what Stiles was talking about. And to this day, that night ranked second on the list of his biggest regrets—ahead of it only the night Laura died. But before he could be swallowed by his memories, Stiles’ voice pulled him back to the present.

“He used to be this pleasant kid who was full of optimism, despite the fates seeming to conspire against him. That changed rather rapidly after he was turned. Then again… Most of his behavior early on was to be expected. I know he’d hated how his health used to hold him back. Of course, he’d wanted to take advantage of his improved situation. And I don’t even blame him for resenting the flipside. It’s so convenient to hide behind the ‘but I never asked for it’ argument. Peak teenager attitude, isn’t it? Both the recklessness and the hard feelings. Too bad he’s never fully grown out of it, though.”

“But you’re not seriously saying that all of this is ultimately Peter’s fault, are you?” Jordan asked incredulously.

“No, actually. I can’t know if Scott would have stayed the nice kid he was without the Bite or if getting turned only revealed some hidden character traits a little ahead of schedule.”

“Doesn’t help that some of his current opinions are still colored by not-so-Code-abiding Argent ideology,” Peter muttered.

“And Deaton’s precious talk about balance.”

“That, too. Although the man isn’t entirely incorrect. Balance is needed, especially if such a powerful entity as the Nemeton is around.”

“But his ways of achieving it left a lot to be desired,” Stiles sighed. “Is he still like that?”

Peter found himself shrugging in tandem with Jordan. That was not an easy question to answer.

“Haven’t heard him talk about the topic for years, but that doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Yeah,” Jordan chimed in. “Scott’s approach to taking care of the territory and of threats hasn’t changed. So Deaton might just have narrowed down his audience.”

“The way those two used to keep to themselves, I’d be surprised if even the pack is privy to Deaton’s counsel. Liam, maybe. But I wouldn’t bet on it. Seems to be his preferred method. It was the same with Talia back then.”

Peter’s guts churned at that memory. He’d never actively thought about it before, but now? How close were they to history repeating?

“Used to keep to themselves?” Stiles asked. “What does that mean?”

“Straying from the script,” Jordan said, a thoughtful frown on his face. Peter was surprised that the deputy seemed to connect the same dots he did.

“That’s one way to put it, yes. He never left my sister alone for weeks on end. And he didn’t use to do it with Scott either.”

“Until recently.”

That made Stiles look up sharply at them.

“How recently?”

“Over the last year or so?” Jordan said, sounding uncertain and looking to Peter for confirmation.

“More or less. It was a gradual development. A day or two here and there at first, nothing you’d think about twice. But then the absences started to lengthen and happen more frequently. These days he’s away more often than not.”

“Last time I saw him, he looked pretty stressed out, too. Tried to ask a question concerning his day job, and he just brushed me off.”

“When exactly was that?”

“Two weeks ago or so?”

“Interesting. About the same time, I saw him last. Although I didn’t come close enough to talk to him. If I actually cared, I’d be worried that he’s been avoiding me.”

“He probably has,” Stiles mused. “Who knows what he’s been up to. Chances are you might figure him out if he didn’t keep his distance.”

Jordan started looking concerned again.

“Aren’t you a little too paranoid right now? Things have been quiet here for a while. How likely would it be for shit to hit the fan on multiple fronts at the same time, pretty much out of the blue?”

Stiles scoffed at that and started pacing.

“Is it really that sudden, though? You said it yourself, Jordan. Whatever is up with Deaton has been going on for a while. And the fae situation has likely been brewing for even longer. Only the Miller pack is new.”

“Makes one wonder if those three things are unconnected or not,” Peter said, drumming his fingers on the desk again.

“I wouldn’t say they’re directly connected,” Stiles countered pensively, stopping his pacing to stare out of the window for a moment. “But they might very well be symptoms of something larger going on behind the scenes.”

“This place, I swear…” Jordan muttered under his breath, and Peter couldn’t help but agree.

“I mean, I might also be totally off. No need to be too worried yet. Let’s tackle one problem at a time.”

“Gee, thanks, Stiles. Why bring up the worst-case scenario, then?”

Stiles’ answering grin held a good amount of almost mean gallows humor. Peter was glad it wasn’t directed at him.

“Revenge for earlier today?”

“I said I was sorry!”

“With a question mark attached to it.”

“Hey, kids!” Peter felt the need to interrupt, darkly amused at the glowering looks both Stiles and Jordan shot him for his wording. “No need to escalate. Let’s get back to the matter at hand.”

“Fine,” Stiles grumbled. “So… we agree that Deaton is suspicious somehow, that Scott’s weirder than usual, and that—in that light—we probably avoided quite a bit of additional drama by me speaking to him alone.”

“I’d say so, too. Knowing him, it’s highly likely he blames me for most of what’s been going on. Imagine I had asked him about the fae situation like I’d been meaning to.”

“Considering the belligerent mood he was in, that wouldn’t have ended well.”

“Apropos not ending well,” Jordan said, “what are the chances that Scott continuing to poke around the preserve will jeopardize the rescue mission?”

“If they’ve been around as long as we think they have, then I don’t believe they’d engage now of all times. But they’re welcome to take him and give my father back in exchange.”

“That wouldn’t be a fair trade,” Peter quipped. “I’d question their common sense if they went for it.”

Stiles just rolled his eyes at that and finally stopped his pacing to drop down heavily onto the small free space on the bed.

“It’s moot to speculate about that scenario. Unless Scott does something exceptionally stupid, he’s unlikely to come across them when he hasn’t so far. Considering he’s been stumbling around the preserve, chasing obviously false leads, I’d say the fae have their backs covered.”

“Small blessings…” Jordan sighed. “So, what’s next?”

“Research,” Stiles replied, getting up again and stretching with almost manic energy. “But dinner first. You want to come along?”

“Nah. Gonna grab something to go at the diner, and then I’ll head out to keep an eye on the pack. That way, we’ll know right away if they’re about to make matters worse.”

“Good idea! But send regular updates even if they don’t do anything noteworthy. It’d be one worry less.”

“You got it. Guess I’ll see you later, then.”

“Absolutely.”

Peter watched Jordan leave and then turned his attention back to Stiles.

“You okay?”

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“You’re almost vibrating out of your skin.”

Stiles exhaled noisily and gratefully leaned into it when Peter got up and pulled him into an embrace.

“Can’t help it.”

Peter could imagine. There was so much they couldn’t control at the moment. Even a short break for sustenance had to feel like wasting time. But that just meant that Stiles really needed a break, and dinner was going to be the perfect opportunity for it. It’d get him out of his head for a while.

And then, hopefully, they’d both be at the top of their game for finding the clues they’d need to get the sheriff back.

~

Sheriff

Noah wondered if he was dreaming. Of all the possible explanations for this, it was the most harmless one. If he was dreaming, there was the chance he could wake up any moment, and everything would be back to normal—just another boring day as a sheriff of a fairly quiet county.

Don’t get him wrong, “boring” was exactly what he wanted his days to be. It meant that there were neither mundane nor supernatural crises to manage. He wasn’t getting any younger, was he? His body was at a point now where it thanked him profusely for every break he allowed it to have.

But boring had gone right out of the window the moment they’d gotten the call about a disturbance in the preserve. So chances were low that this was just his subconscious playing a movie for him while he slept.

Unfortunate, really, because his surroundings made an excellent dreamscape. Every color was just a tiny bit too faded, and even the shadows appeared overexposed. The tree that had supported him earlier had felt very solid under his hands, but looking at it now, Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t completely here. Wherever “here” was.

And the person that dreamy voice belonged to? They defied even the tiniest shred of normalcy. Tall and slender, looking just as faded and… in-between… as the rest of their surroundings, yet oddly glowing in a shimmering kind of way. And try as he might, he could not focus on their face at all. Whenever he tried, he found his eyes wandering to some distant point on the horizon.

“Are you feeling better now?”

Distracted as he was by this odd phenomenon, it took him a moment to realize he’d been addressed. And then he let habit guide his actions, automatically trying to make eye contact. It didn’t work this time, either. All it managed to do was make him vaguely nauseous.

“The headache is gone, but everything here is so disorienting. It makes me uncomfortable,” he answered, too truthfully for his liking. What was up with that? “Where is ‘here’ anyway?”

Huh? That was not the last thought he’d had. It wasn’t even the second to last. Why was his mouth lagging so much behind his brain?

“You’re in my refuge. A realm between realms. I believe you humans call it a pocket universe.”

“The multiverse is real?” The question slipped out unbidden, surprising him in its promptness. Especially since he had no idea where it had come from. This was the kind of thing Stiles was interested in, not him. Until now, he hadn’t even known he had that word in his vocabulary. “Never mind… How do I get home again?” There, that was a relevant question. Good to know his head wasn’t compromised completely.

“Your home is here, Noah Stilinski.”

It was said in such a casual but confident way that Noah almost found himself nodding. Because, of course, this was where he belonged. To think otherwise was madness. Here, he was safe. Here, he was near the one who was most important to him…

Wait a minute!

Something about that didn’t sound right.

Yes, there was someone who was important to him above all others—who he would kill for and die for—but… Stiles was not here. He’d know it if he were.

Instead, he was in the company of an ethereal stranger. A stranger who apparently knew his given name, while he couldn’t remember having introduced himself.

“You have me at a disadvantage. You seem to know me, and yet I have no idea who you are… or what. Uh… sorry if it’s rude to ask that.”

An odd kind of ripple seemed to run over the person in front of him. And while he still couldn’t focus on their face, their whole stance radiated confusion. Why was that?

“Your name is not Noah Stilinski,” they said. It wasn’t a question, and it almost sounded as if they were offended. Which was rich, coming from someone who was probably a kidnapper and a stalker.

“It is. One of them, at least.”

He left it at that, wanting to see their reaction. Because he was sure there would be one. Someone with such a keen interest in a name always had ulterior motives.

He had an inkling of what he was dealing with now because he remembered the tales some of his classmates used to tell. Bedtime stories of the creepier variant about stolen people, changelings, and eternal servitude. Things he hadn’t used to take seriously before he’d gotten proof that the supernatural existed.

And there’d been his parents. When he was still a child, they’d always told him never to give his full name to anyone. You never knew what they’d need it for, after all. There was power in a name… He’d also laughed it off as superstition as he grew older, but the habit had remained. Authorities knew his legal name, but nobody knew his true name.

“You use aliases?” they asked, sounding incredulous. “As a man of the law?”

“I’ve gone by Noah Stilinski for my whole adult life. It’s the name that matters.”

“That is not how names work.”

“It is for us humans. And, again, not to be rude, but usually, names are exchanged. I still don’t know yours.”

The fae—because he was fairly sure that’s what this cagey individual was—was visibly conflicted now. Hah! Now they knew how he felt. Served them right!

“My common name,” they said reluctantly, “cannot be pronounced by any human tongue. But it translates to Weaver of Light.”

Did it now? He wanted to call bullshit, but for all he knew, the fae were just that weird.

“That sounds more like a profession than a name.”

“We are named for our purpose.”

“I imagine it can be pretty confusing if there’s more than one of you with the same purpose.”

“We have qualifiers for this. But I have no need for one. I am unique in our community.”

Ohhh, so they were special. Of course. Because god forbid someone could be perceived as ordinary… He managed not to roll his eyes and decided he’d been sidetracked for long enough. Time to return to the important part.

“And yet, it’s not your true name either, is it?”

The pause that followed his question was very telling. They must not have expected him to figure them out so easily.

“As you said,” they answered eventually, “names are exchanged. No mere mortal has the right to learn our true names for free. Most are not willing to pay the price.”

“I can understand why. There’s a major power imbalance between us already because the average human doesn’t have magic. Why give you even more power over us? There are no benefits, as far as I can see.”

“You do not see longevity as a benefit? Or the lack of worldly troubles?”

“Sounds like an empty existence to me. I’d miss the people I’d have to leave behind. Maybe the offer would sound appealing to some people, but not to me.”

“What if I told you your mortal life is close to ending?”

“I’d say you have no proof.”

“Did I not remove you from a dangerous situation? Any day you work on upholding mortal laws could be your last. But there is also this,” they said and laid their hand against his chest. Noah’s breath caught.

“What are you talking about?”

“Human souls shine brightly, but only for a very short time. And human bodies are so fragile. Yours, you might be happy to hear, is healthier than those of other people at this stage of their lives. And yet, your clock is ticking faster than it should. I cannot be sure of the cause, but I am sure of the solution.”

“And what would that be?”

“You grant me power over you and agree to stay.”

“No offense, but that still doesn’t sound very appealing to me.”

“You value your independence so much that you would accept a significantly reduced lifespan to keep it?”

“What kind of life would I lead, away from the people who matter to me? There aren’t many of them, but they’re important to me. Leaving them behind is not an option.”

“Foolish! I do not think I will ever understand human irrationality. Maybe I will need to make you see reason. Tell me your true name!”

It was as if a cloud was suddenly forming around Noah’s head, and the next words he said slipped out unbidden and too fast to hold them back.

“As a child, I went by John. That’s short for Jonathan. Noah is the name my parents gave me when I came of age. It was properly filed and acknowledged by the authorities, though, so it has never been in conflict with my job.”

“What else?”

“Nicknames only,” Noah found himself answering, quietly amazed that he didn’t seem to be in control of his own body anymore. He should probably be horrified about that, but all he could muster was a detached kind of serenity. And the words just kept coming. “All of them were temporary, though. I’ve never identified myself through them. I was only ever John or Noah.”

“None of these names make up your true name, however.”

“These are the only ones I know. My parents never told me any other. They sometimes hinted at a naming ceremony they held after I was born. And when I got my current name, they said my true name would be safe. They insisted on keeping it to themselves, though. Something about making sure I couldn’t be taken advantage of. I never took that seriously, but I guess I know what they meant now.”

“It is truly unfortunate. You have so much potential that will never reach its zenith because you cannot become immortal. How cruel your parents have been to you!”

“That’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it? It all depends on what kind of existence one wants to lead.”

“Do not think I have given up yet. There has to be a way to keep your light shining, and I will find it.”

They were determined. Noah had to give them that. But the fact remained that determination alone was unlikely to break their impasse. He didn’t have much time to wonder about what that would mean for him, though, because right on the heel of that idle question, a tingly feeling was starting to spread through his body.

And then two new figures appeared on either side of him.

~

Peter

“This is not the way to the school!”

It wasn’t. But Stiles’ suspicion was just a tad insulting anyway. So Peter aimed for a theatrical pout and asked, “Don’t you trust me? The way to knowledge doesn’t always lead to traditional teaching.”

“You’re so full of shit sometimes. Be glad that I do trust you these days!”

Peter liked this tone much better. It was practically fond now.

“Oh, I am. Glad, that is,” he added when he saw Stiles’ face light up with unholy glee from the corner of his eyes. “And rest assured that your trust isn’t misplaced. I’ve just made sure that my sources are safe. Both from the reach of unwanted parties and for me to access. I think you’ll like my solution.”

“I’ll be holding you to that…”

There was only about a minute of silence before Stiles leaned forward, taking a closer look at the buildings they were passing.

“Wait! I know this neighborhood!”

“You should. It has seen a few of your teenage shenanigans.”

“Mine? I seem to remember that a lot of said shenanigans had different instigators. More often than not, I was just along for the ride.”

“But you were still all in.”

“Best way to stay in the loop, don’t you agree? Isn’t that also why you’re still here, even though the rest of your family has left?”

Stiles wasn’t wrong. Not completely, at least. Although the other, far more significant reason was that he couldn’t stop being protective of the territory. There was no way he’d let it be overrun by people who were either unable or, worse, unwilling to appreciate the land for what it was.

When Peter parked in front of Derek’s building, Stiles stared at him.

“You relocated to the loft? Isn’t that less secure than the vault at the school?”

“Not to the loft, no.”

It was clear that Stiles wanted to ask more questions, but he seemed to realize that Peter was just a bit too paranoid about talking while out in the open at the moment. Theoretically, they should be safe from eavesdroppers here, but with the fae involved, who really knew? He let out a relieved breath once they were inside the building.

“Whoa! Those are some powerful wards. Not even your apartment is this secure.”

Stiles was clearly impressed, and Peter studiously ignored the way this made him feel.

“My apartment isn’t home to a historian’s wet dream. Or a hunter’s, for that matter. The things I’ve stashed away here are too valuable in every sense of the word, to risk them being destroyed or used against us.”

“Good point,” Stiles conceded, then started when he realized that the elevator was going down instead of up. “Oh! So, this place isn’t less secure than the vault. Sorry for doubting you. Am I right to assume that almost nobody knows about this?”

“You are. The pack only knows about the vault. Which is still in use, by the way. Scott has access to it. It holds the harmless things that won’t make me feel homicidal if they end up lost or fall into the wrong hands. And as long as the vault exists, nobody’s going to ask questions.”

“Not even about you coming here and disappearing behind the heaviest curtain I’ve ever come across? I kinda want to know who’s responsible for these wards. I want to pick their brain.”

“The building still belongs to Derek. It’s perfectly normal for me to come here and check up on the place every once in a while. I’m just honoring Derek’s wishes,” Peter said, smiling as innocently as possible. It earned him an amused snort from Stiles. “As for the wards… Derek hired the highest-rated expert to get them done. It cost a pretty penny, but it was money well spent.”

“Derek hired the expert?”

At that point, the elevator stopped and opened to a small room that seemed to be a dead end. Peter headed for the far wall and simply kept going. Stiles’ delighted gasp was followed by hasty footsteps, and a second later, he appeared next to Peter. He looked like a kid in a candy store when he caught sight of the rows upon rows of filled shelves.

“Don’t be so surprised. All of this,” Peter said, gesturing at the room, “was his idea. And he’s well-connected these days. Talia’s old allies trust him more than me.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not as much as it would have several years ago. But these people and their hang-ups are easier to tolerate from a distance. I don’t mind having Derek as a go-between. The time I lose by having to contact him first, I save by not having to defend my motives all the time.”

“True,” Stiles agreed, already starting to sound distracted. The lure of knowledge, Peter guessed. There would probably be more questions about Derek later, who Stiles knew hadn’t been back to Beacon Hills for even longer than Stiles had. But for now, researching the fae was more important.

Stiles had wandered farther into the room and turned around now to stare Peter down. “Where do we start?”

“With the records on pack treaties, I’d say. Over there. With any luck, we’ll learn what kind of fae used to frequent the preserve and why.”

“But just because the Hales used to have a connection to the fae doesn’t mean it’s those exact ones who’re back now.”

“Not necessarily, no. But it’s still unlikely that another community moved into the territory after the previous one was gone. If I remember my mother’s stories correctly, they have rules for these kinds of situations.”

“What kind of rules?”

“Portal privileges, for example. A community establishing portals in an area that previously hosted portals of another without express permission has the potential to start wars.”

“Oookay. Those guys have no chill at all,” Stiles winced. “All right then, hand me something to read!”

Peter went through the shelf very carefully, selecting documents, journals, and books of interest, and handed what he found to Stiles. Then they spent a good hour checking their pile for any hints of the facts they’d already collected: Peter’s memories of his mother’s stories about the fae that frequented the preserve decades ago, Stiles’ impression of the magic at the kidnapping site, the way the deputies had been influenced, and what little information Peter had gathered from Scott after that one delegation got their request for access to the Nemeton denied.

It was a frustrating process because, at the end of it, they’d dismissed all but one journal that referenced a signed treaty. A treaty that was supposed to provide more information—if only it had been among the documents on the shelf.

Did it even still exist? The possibility that it might have been destroyed at some point—maybe even by the fire—made Peter want to throw things.

But no! There was still a chance it could have been misfiled. So, while Stiles kept reading the journal for more clues, Peter went back to the shelves, hoping to have better luck with an expanded search radius.

As he was perusing the shelf for general fae lore, Stiles suddenly called, “Hey, do you know of anyone called Blackthorn?”

Huh… That sounded rather random.

“First name or last name?” he called back, trying to remember if he’d heard it before.

“It doesn’t say. The way it’s used in the text, it might even be a title.”

“If it’s a title, we might have a problem because of the meaning blackthorn has for witchcraft.”

“Ugh… Well, I honestly can’t tell. Have a look yourself. See if it shakes anything loose.”

Yeah, no. Even after reading the paragraph in question twice, Peter wasn’t any more enlightened than before. But another name—one only mentioned in passing that wouldn’t have caught Stiles’ attention—made him pause.

“I need to make a phone call.”

“Cashing in a favor?”

“If I have to. Although I might get this particular information for free.”

Stiles’ eyes lit up with interest, which Peter chose to ignore. And since sounds carried a little too well in the library, he went back to the elevator to have some more privacy. Because while he absolutely trusted Stiles, his contact trusted almost nobody. If they ever learned someone outside of their small circle of approved people knew of their existence… He saw no need to risk the consequences.

~

Stiles

While Peter was away to talk to someone well out of earshot, Stiles kept reading the journal. He had yet to figure out who exactly had written it because whoever it was had had two major flaws: They often used epithets to refer to pack members, and they had neglected to put their own name on the first page. That made it hard to determine when it had been written, too.

It’d have been nice to have a timeframe during which all of the mentioned events happened. Although, he supposed, the journal had never been intended to be read by outsiders. What felt like the biggest puzzle to him would likely be a collection of very obvious clues to any given Hale. Otherwise, Peter wouldn’t have rushed off like that after reading only one paragraph.

Stiles was just about to give up and wait for Peter’s return so he could make him read the infernal thing, when a tiny note in the margins caught his eye.

Tiny, as in written in such small letters that it was hard to decipher. But it turned out to be quite a rant about some people who had turned up inside the territory wards unannounced and seemingly without any regard for etiquette.

Huh… Interestingly enough, the handwriting and wording of that paragraph hinted at a second author. Curious now, Stiles flipped through the journal to see if there were any other annotations. And he found several more on the next ten or so pages, most of them complaining bitterly about the visitors. Their tone was at odds with the rest of the journal, too.

His fascination with the unexpected bit of drama brought back his eagerness to learn more, and soon he was so focused on reading that he didn’t even notice when Peter returned.

Therefore, the hand on his shoulder came as a nasty surprise and almost made him jerk out of his chair.

“Oh my god, Peter!” He exclaimed with a wildly pounding heart. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“I’d say sorry, but none of my other attempts at getting your attention worked.”

“Didn’t they? And what exactly did you try?”

“The usual suspects. Talking, talking louder, making noise by dumping some books on the table—in your line of vision, even… Someone with a lesser ego than mine might have started to feel intentionally ignored.”

Stiles snorted at that. Good to see that Peter was self-aware.

“You brought new books? Was your friend forthcoming, then?”

“Friend isn’t quite the word I’d use here. But yes, I got some helpful pointers.”

“Like what?”

“Like neither of the Courts being involved. I mean, I’d been fairly sure about that before, but it was nice to get it confirmed. Which leaves us with one of the smaller communities, of which there are plenty. But with all the information we’ve already gathered, my contact was able to rule out most of them.”

“And the remaining ones?”

“We should be able to identify them with this,” Peter said, pointing at the stack of books that sat in the middle of the table.

“That looks like there’ll be an all-nighter in our immediate future.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. What have you found? Anything worthwhile?”

“I’m not entirely sure yet. The writing style is frustrating. It seems to have been written for insiders only. You know, for people who grew up with stories about the previous pack generations. And I’m not one of those.”

“Want me to read it instead?”

“Please? You found something relevant in there with just a couple of glances. Who knows what I would miss, simply because I don’t have enough context? Maybe you can identify all the key players. Especially the one who kept writing in the margins.”

Peter’s eyes gleamed with interest.

“There are additions?”

“Plenty. With strong opinions. In what feels like font size two or something. I’ve only gotten about halfway through.”

If such gestures weren’t beneath Peter, Stiles thought he’d have made grabby hands at the journal.

“Let’s trade, then?”

“Only if you promise to help with that stack once you’re done,” Stiles replied, sticking his tongue out at Peter for good measure. “And if you tell me what I need to look out for in those texts.”

“Mentions of attraction to sources of power—like our Nemeton, even though that might have been coincidental. The ones my mother knew came for that just like the ones who approached Scott.”

“Noted.”

“According to my mother, the ones from back then were ultimately harmless, despite their cunning tendencies.”

“That seems to be the one trait that all kinds of fae have in common.”

“Makes them a little bit predictable, at least. Although… Even if the ones who took your father are the same ones who used to have a treaty with the pack, they might be less benevolent these days. Some of the smaller communities have affiliations to the Courts in one way or another. And the Wild Hunt paying a visit left a stain on the land that’ll take a while to purge. If it also affected the Nemeton, they’ll know.”

“Would they want to do something about that?”

“Depends on why they want access to it. But unless there’s a hint about it in the journal, I doubt we’ll be able to find out without actively asking them.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Understandable. In any case, that’s about it for now. Attraction to power sources and mainly amicable comportment. Some distance from the Courts, likely as neutral a position as it can reasonably get… Oh, and a preference for establishing portals along the West Coast. I’ll let you know if I find more points of interest in the journal.”

Stiles sighed and pulled the first book off the stack. He could only hope that their clues were enough to get them somewhere.

But by the time Peter put the journal aside, Stiles had already dismissed one book entirely and was beginning to ask himself if he should do the same with the one he was reading at the moment. Time for a distraction!

“Was the journal a bust?”

“What?” Peter looked startled for a moment, and Stiles refused to find it adorable. “What gave you that idea?”

“You being silent the whole time. You promised to tell me if you found something relevant, after all.”

“Oh… I apologize. I might have gotten a little too absorbed in the drama.”

“Did you, now? And will you share the hot gossip?”

“Do you have to call it that?”

“Absolutely. Now spill!”

Peter sighed and gave in. The gossip, as Stiles called it, was potentially helpful after all.

“So, the fae abducting people isn’t unheard of around Beacon Hills. As far as I could tell, there were four people who went missing during what they were calling the Agreement.”

“Four?”

“That’s not actually that many, all things considered. The fae stuck around for nearly a century before they decided to move on. Might have been because of the war, now that I think about it. Because I doubt they’d have tolerated the nogitsune near the Nemeton.”

“Your mother must have been very young, then.”

Peter looked thoroughly mystified by the seeming non-sequitur, so Stiles elaborated.

“You did say the fae had a treaty with the pack when your mother was young. Talia was a sixties baby, wasn’t she? So there would have been about twenty years, give or take, between the fae leaving and Talia being born. Which means that your mother would still have been in her single digits when they were around. How much of what she told you was from her actual memories instead of second-hand knowledge?”

“Have you forgotten that werewolves don’t age at the same rate as humans do?” Peter asked with a gleam in his eyes.

“Oh… we’re not going to rehash that confusing tidbit right now!”

“All right,” Peter relented easily, to Stiles’ relief. “It does mean that my mother was about a decade older than you assume she was, though. She did have a decent amount of first-hand knowledge.”

“I’ll take your word for it, then. So, there were four missing people.”

“Ah, yes. One of them never returned, two of them never said anything about their experiences, and the fourth was the one who wrote in the margins, several decades after the journal was written.”

“Did you find out who that initial author was?”

“Had to have been the emissary that was present for the treaty negotiations.”

“And the second one?”

“Definitely a magic user herself, although I haven’t been able to tell if she was an emissary, too. She was an outlier among the ones who went missing, by the way. While the others were taken, she went looking for the one who never returned. A family member, if I understood it correctly.”

“She didn’t succeed, I take it?”

“She didn’t. By the time she found him, he was permanently bound to the fae realm. Even if she’d managed to convince him to leave, he wouldn’t have been able to do so.”

“Why not?”

“Two reasons: He’d accepted food from the fae, and he’d given them his true name. The binding via food could have been reversed with a good enough incentive. But the binding via name? That sticks.”

“Hmmm, how likely do you think it is that they’ll try the same with my father?”

“Highly likely. It’s something of a signature move of theirs.”

“Barring any other, more obscure ways of binding a mortal to their realm, he should be safe, then.”

“How so?”

“There’s something of a tradition in the Stilinski family: none of us know our real names. There’s supposed to be one trusted secret keeper per generation, who knows where the records are kept. But due to circumstances, both my father’s and my own records are lost.”

“What circumstances?”

“My grandparents were paranoid about names for some reason. It’s pretty odd, considering they used to scoff at people who believed in the old tales. But they made his great-grandmother name him in a lavish ceremony and told her to keep it to herself. She died before he was even out of his diapers.”

“And you?”

“The secret keeper for my true name was my mother.”

Stiles didn’t bother to elaborate. He knew that Peter would be able to read between the lines.

“I see,” Peter said slowly. “Was this at your grandparents’ insistence, too?”

“I think so. Why?”

“It’s curious that they chose such drastic measures. Makes me wonder why they thought it was necessary. Do you know if you inherited your magical talent from your father’s side of the family?”

“No idea, honestly. If it is, nobody ever told us.”

“Maybe that was your grandparents’ point, then. There’s power in a name, right? But it’s not just a weapon that can be used against you. It can also give you power over yourself. So if magic runs in the Stilinski line—and if your grandparents were aware—making sure neither you nor your father knew your true names ensured that you’re essentially hobbled now. It’s a trade-off of sorts: if you don’t reach your full potential, you might also stay under the radar of other magic users.”

“So our protection has a price tag attached to it. I’m not sure how to feel about that.”

“It’s probably best to shelf it for now,” Peter said, sounding apologetic. “Once your father is back, we’ll have more time to look into the matter.”

Stiles couldn’t help but sigh.

“Right. Okay… Priorities. I have them, I swear.”

Peter’s answering smile did something funny to his insides. Yet another thing that would have to wait. He might need to write a list soon, just to keep track.

~

Peter

Diving back into their research, Peter was well aware that they were flying half-blind now. There was just no way to be sure what community exactly they were dealing with here, after all, apart from an educated guess or two. Not that it would have much impact on how to make contact. He’d bet that the methods would prove effective for any of them.

Being sure might have given them an advantage during the negotiations, though. But since they couldn’t have that, they’d have to go in without a planned strategy and wing it.

He’d be much more nervous about it if it were anyone else but Stiles, who called the shots in this operation. Stiles knew how to strategize on the fly. They’d be fine… As long as they managed to locate the sheriff, that was.

One of the first ways to do that, they found, was by invoking someone’s true name in a surprisingly simple ritual. And wasn’t that ironic? Such a nice and easy way, but they had to dismiss it for obvious reasons.

So they kept looking.

Over the next hour and a half, Stiles’ notes started to outgrow the table, and he began to grumble about the absence of his evidence board.

“There’s plenty of space on the floor. Why don’t you spread out there?” Peter asked provocatively. With the way their research was currently stalling, his inner troublemaker was making an appearance, it seemed.

“Oh?” Stiles shot back hotly. “Are you offering massages for my inevitable back pain if I do so? Man… this would be so much easier if we had just taken the books home.”

“They will not leave the library! Are you insane???”

“Watch me make digital copies of everything in this room at the soonest opportunity, then.”

“What about ‘all information stays in this room’ do you not understand?”

“Oh, I understand just fine. I just happen to believe we could greatly benefit from a searchable database. Hell, I’d even finally switch to a digital board if it had access to said database. Imagine how much easier it would be for us to find stuff.”

“If your tech equipment were all down here, you’d still have to come over every time you want to look something up.”

“Not so different from now, is it? And there’s such a thing as a phone if I can’t be here in person. And before you protest again, I have privacy wards that protect phone calls. Together with the wards on this place, your library couldn’t be any safer despite your generous sharing.”

It was hard for Peter to determine why the prospect bothered him so much. It wasn’t that he begrudged Stiles the access to all of this. If anything, he couldn’t think of anyone more worthy of it than him. And yet… He was aware that it was irrational, but maybe it was the idea that technology and magic didn’t fit together. As if they were two different worlds that shouldn’t touch, despite Stiles himself being evidence to the contrary. Mixing those two worlds seemed to come naturally to him. Peter’s instincts still kept screaming at him anyway.

Stiles’ sigh pulled Peter back out of his musings.

“What is it?”

“Ugh… Meditation!”

“What about it?”

“Apparently, one way to connect to someone stuck in the fae realm is for a blood relative to meditate on their bond to their family member. At least, if I can trust this seedy little pamphlet. Sounds like something Deaton might have written. I hate it.”

“Why? It sounds like a fairly easy method. And you have magic. Your father might even have magic, even if it’s dormant. That should give you an extra boost.”

“Yeah, if I were capable of the kind of meditation that’s needed for things like this. Like I’d ever be able to clear my mind…”

“Hmmm, does it have to be a blood relative?”

“For best results? Yeah. Someone with a strong emotional connection might have some luck, too. But otherwise, you’d be screwed, according to this thing.”

“Ah, too bad. Looks like I’m not a suitable candidate, then… But let’s keep this as a backup if nothing else crops up.”

“Fine. But I still don’t like it.”

“Noted.”

A while later, Stiles’ recurring yawns kept dragging Peter’s attention away from the book he was trying to read. No wonder, though. It had to be at least an hour past midnight by now. He was about to announce that they should stop and get some sleep, when Stiles suddenly jolted from his slump and breathed a soft ohhh.

There were two books open in front of him that he seemed to read simultaneously. After a minute of switching back and forth between them, he sent a wide-eyed, excited look Peter’s way.

“This might actually work! I found a spell that doesn’t require names, true or otherwise. It just needs a blood relative capable of using magic.”

“Just that?”

“Mainly that,” Stiles conceded. “The spell is complex. There seem to be several stages. But I think I can do it! I’ll just have to read the instructions very carefully, and practice a bit before I do the real thing.”

“Not tonight, though,” Peter declared, firmly closing his own book and sending Stiles a pointed stare.

“No! I can’t just stop now! I’m so close to knowing where he is.”

“And then what? Would you rest once you know? Or would you want to try and retrieve him immediately?”

“Uhhh…” Stiles fidgeted guiltily, and while Peter could understand the urgency, it was better to stay firm.

“No, Stiles. You’re exhausted. Hell, I’m exhausted, so you must be worse off. Would you want to risk the spell to fail?” Seeing Stiles mutely shake his head, he continued a little more gently. “Besides, if we want this to go smoothly, you can’t give the fae any opportunity to exploit a weakness. Even the most benevolent of them are incredibly possessive. They can and will do anything to keep what and who they consider theirs. You’d actually like to pose a challenge for them, right? So, let’s try tomorrow morning.”

“This is suspiciously similar to the conversation we had last night,” Stiles said mulishly.

“Looks like you haven’t learned from your mistakes yet, then. Come on, let’s head back and get some rest! We both need it.”

Peter could see that he almost had him. But it wouldn’t be Stiles if he didn’t keep trying to get his way for a bit longer.

“But tomorrow morning, I’ll only have a few hours left of Rafe’s ultimatum. If our attempt doesn’t work, I might not get another chance. Who knows who will take over after my forty-eight hours are up? It wouldn’t be anyone I’d trust with my father’s life.”

“Not even Jordan?”

“Well,” Stiles shrugged and conceded, “I’d trust him. And you. But like hell would Rafe let you help.”

“What about your team?”

“I’d trust Danny. The others, too, but not as much as him. They’re competent people, but I haven’t known them long enough yet to leave something that important to me in their hands without being there myself. Not that it matters how much I trust them. Because they’d have to come in first. Anyone Rafe would send would arrive the next morning the soonest. I would never wait that long. And then I’d very deliberately disobey orders. Rafe would be justified taking disciplinary action. As much as I tend to toe the line, I’d really like to avoid it going that far.”

It broke Peter’s heart to hear Stiles sound that desperate. But he understood.

“Should we really fail to retrieve the sheriff tomorrow, I promise I’ll make sure McCall will let you keep working on this. I have a few ways to make him see reason.”

“What?” It was almost cute how Stiles’ eyes widened for a moment, only to narrow in a clear demonstration of doubt. “Are you going to threaten him?”

“Tsk, Stiles. Nothing that crude. He’s the kind of man who responds better to promises… That benefit him. Don’t look at me like that.”

Stiles deflated at that, and his next question came out more vulnerable than he’d probably meant to. “You swear you’ll have my back?”

“One hundred percent. You have my word.”

“Okay,” Stiles finally gave in, raking both hands through his hair. “Okay. I’ll hold you to that.”

Peter didn’t mind. He had no intention at all of breaking his promise. But Stiles looked like he wanted to say something else and didn’t know if he should, so he sent him an encouraging smile.

“… Can I stay with you again?”

Huh! Peter hadn’t expected that question, mostly because he’d thought that it went without saying. Apparently not, though.

“Of course. And take the books. Then we won’t have to return for them tomorrow.”

“You’ll let me remove them from the vault? Really?” It was amazing how fast Stiles’ uncertainty was replaced by excitement. That boy’s love for books—or rather, for knowledge—seemed to be unwavering and stronger than ever. Someone with a lesser ego than Peter’s might get jealous of the reverent way he started to caress the covers of the books closest to him.

“Just this once and just these two. Don’t expect me to allow you again next time you want to look something up.”

“Database,” Stiles muttered under his breath, clearly out to provoke him.

“No!”

“One day, I’ll convince you. You’ll see.”

Peter suspected that might be true.

~

Stiles

By the time Peter parked his fancy car in his fancy underground parking spot, Stiles was so tired that he had trouble keeping his eyes open. As much as he hated to admit it, Peter had been right. What use was he to his dad if he was about to keel over any moment? And yet, he felt time running away from him, minute after precious minute. It made him so antsy that he was worried he wouldn’t be able to sleep, no matter how exhausted he was.

A door was clicking shut somewhere behind him, and Peter was telling him “shoes off!” as he passed him, and… how the hell were they already in the apartment?

A few years ago, he would have started to frantically count his fingers by now. As it was, his heartbeat sped up for a moment anyway, despite knowing he only had his fatigue to thank for this particular disorienting “time jump”.

He followed Peter’s instructions on autopilot. Then he blinked and… found himself in Peter’s bedroom. What was he doing here? Had he followed Peter like a lost duckling, right past the—admittedly—very comfortable couch? How embarrassing!

Something soft was pressed into his hands, and he was firmly steered toward the bathroom. Right! There were steps to be taken before he could get horizontal. Out of his day clothes, into… Oh! These weren’t his own sleep shorts and T-shirt. The fabric wasn’t nearly as threadbare. This would probably feel great against his skin…

“Have you fallen asleep in there?”

Huh?

Stiles became aware of standing kind of dumbly in the middle of Peter’s fancy bathroom, his toes curling in Peter’s fancy bath rug, his fingers absentmindedly caressing Peter’s fancy pajama pants.

Just how long had he been doing this?

“Stiles?”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he mumbled. “Or three.”

“Okay,” Peter laughed. Who’d given him permission to be amused? At Stiles’ expense, no less. “If you’re not out in five, I’ll come in.”

Oh god! And now Stiles was blushing, and his heart was speeding for an entirely different reason. At least he was alert enough now to rush through his bedtime regime.

He was finished in just over four minutes. Phew! Possible crisis averted … or something.

“There you are,” Peter smiled at him when he opened the door. “Now, into bed with you. You look dead on your feet.”

“What?”

“Come on, it can’t be news to you that you need sleep.”

“Sure. That’s… not what I meant.” It was so hard to think now. Peter was looking at him expectantly, and he wasn’t sure how to explain to him why his instructions didn’t compute. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he knew what was bothering him either.

Shaking his head a little, he caught sight of the— Oh!

“Bed!”

“Yes,” Peter agreed quizzically. “That’s what I was saying.”

The “your point?” didn’t make it past Peter’s lips but was heavily implied if Stiles read his tone right.

“Your bed.”

“So?”

Why was Peter so slow on the uptake? Why didn’t he want to understand?

“I thought… couch?”

Peter had the gall to laugh again.

“Oh my, you’re so out of it! But just so there’s no misunderstanding: You won’t be sleeping on the couch tonight. The bed is big enough for both of us.”

Stiles’ brain was doing its best to blue screen on him. To his exhausted brain, the… order? … seemed to be both the best and the worst idea ever. But…

“Why?”

“Because, considering the circumstances, I’d feel better if you were close. Just in case.”

“You think something will happen?”

“Not really,” Peter admitted. “But would you indulge my instincts anyway?”

‘What a hardship!’ a reckless voice was chirping in Stiles’ mind, and he had to suppress a borderline hysterical cackle. He really was too tired for this. The desire to crawl under the sheets and fall asleep already was getting overwhelming now. So, no reason to fight this any longer, right?

In lieu of an answer, he took the few necessary, wobbly steps forward and just let gravity do its thing.

He must have been drifting for a while again because the next thing he knew, the mattress was dipping next to him, and the blanket at his feet was drawn up to his shoulders.

Earlier, Stiles had been worried about not being able to fall asleep. But fatigue alone had already started to convince him that it probably wouldn’t be that much of a problem. And now, as Peter settled in and sent a quiet “good night” his way, his brain actually shut up for once.

He was out like a light, only seconds later.

~

Peter

Peter didn’t know what woke him up right away. He only knew it was far too early to be awake. Sure, the world behind his curtains was already brightening, and the birds were annoyingly loud, but he couldn’t have slept for more than four hours yet. So why wasn’t he still asleep?

A low mumble to his right made him freeze for a second, taking stock of his surroundings. And then he had his answer: At some point during the night, Stiles must have rolled over towards him but was now in the process of rolling away again. For some reason, that felt utterly unacceptable to Peter.

Before he could question the wisdom of his actions, he’d already reached out to pull Stiles close again. In the few seconds right after, he held his breath, expecting some kind of protest. But there wasn’t any. Instead, Stiles sighed contently and settled against Peter as if he belonged there.

There was a familiar tug somewhere behind Peter’s sternum that he hadn’t felt in a while. Not since Derek and Cora had left Beacon Hills. Which… might become a problem later. Because if he was forming a pack bond with Stiles now, what would happen when they had to part ways again?

“Why’re you ’wake? S’too’rly. G’back t’sleep!” Stiles mumbled all of a sudden, clumsily patting Peter’s chest.

He’d probably hate to know how adorable Peter thought he was at this moment. But he was right. It was too early. Peter’s best bet was to enjoy what he had for now and to get some more rest. He could indulge his instincts for a few more hours. It’d still be early enough to worry about the consequences once the sheriff was back.

Taking a deep breath and reveling in Stiles’ scent, he let himself be dragged under again.

Chapter Text

Stiles

Over two and a half days since his father had disappeared. Roughly eleven hours left until Rafe would put his foot down…

If this were a mundane kidnapping, the chances of it ending with everyone alive would be dropping by the minute. Even with supernatural cases, the outlook would be grim by now.

So…

No pressure, right?

Stiles took a deep breath to center himself and looked around the clearing. It looked the same as yesterday, still oddly frozen in time.

At his side, Peter was tense—agitated by the unnatural stillness around him, but ready to spring into action at the smallest provocation.

Jordan had stopped at the edge of the clearing, his attention directed at the forest behind him to make sure nobody would catch them unaware. Scott and his pack were still out there, after all.

Okay, then.

Stiles was the safest he could be under these circumstances. No sense in putting off what he’d come here to do.

Squeezing Peter’s hand once for reassurance—for both of them, really—he took a determined step forward. Then another. With the third step, his hand slipped from Peter’s and a wave of loneliness swept over him.

Don’t focus on that! That’s just the effect of the lingering portal magic. He’s still here, watching your back. Everything is fine!

He didn’t turn to check if Peter was still there. He knew he was. Because while the magic was smothering his senses, something inside him was finely tuned to Peter now. Had been since he’d woken up this morning, actually.

He’d put that observation on the rapidly growing list of things to contemplate later since the preparation for this very moment had taken up all his concentration.

And now they were here, ready to see if their research would pay off.

With another steadying breath, he knelt down and fanned out the herbs that would act as a magical amplifier in front of him. Then he closed his eyes, sat back on his heels, and started to recite the carefully memorized words.

There was an almost immediate change in the atmosphere. The air suddenly smelled of ozone, a breeze rustled the leaves on the trees around the clearing, the temperature rose a handful of degrees—

It was over before he’d finished the first repetition.

What—

“Open your eyes, mortal!”

A shiver ran down Stiles’ spine. That was not what was supposed to happen. He was sure he’d used a locator spell and not a summoning. Summonings required elaborate rituals, after all.

The first thing he saw was… nothing—or rather, so much light that everything was white for a moment.

For an overwhelming, panicky second, it reminded him of the endless white room the nogitsune had used to trap him in. But then there was a warm hand on his shoulder, gently guiding him up so he would no longer be in a deferential pose.

Peter stayed close even after Stiles was steady on his feet again. The silent support did wonders for Stiles’ nerves.

The second attempt at looking at the speaker went marginally better. The intense brightness had dimmed a little to reveal a humanoid shape at its center. A shape that stepped out of the glow, only for said glow to collapse into nothing right behind the newcomer.

Portal, Stiles’ mind provided helpfully. Did that mean they were actually dealing with the fae now?

If so, he didn’t mind. It would save them some extra steps, and the faster they resolved this situation the better. He’d just like to know why the spell had had such an unexpected result. For future reference, of course.

For a moment, the clearing was silent again while the fae seemed to size them up. Stiles wasn’t sure how he knew that, given that it was impossible to look directly at the imposing figure.

A flash of worry brushed against his senses. Jordan, maybe? Yet another mystery…

“What reason does a mortal have to perform magic on our doorstep?” the fae finally asked.

And all of a sudden, any caution Stiles had harbored vanished into thin air. The nerve of that… character!

“What reason does an uninvited guest have to outstay their welcome?”

Peter sucked in a sharp breath behind him, his grip on Stiles’ shoulder tightening reflexively.

Granted, Stiles could have worded his counterquestion less sharply, but his patience was running thin. And while he’d never be able to explain it, he was certain his attitude wouldn’t ruin their chances. Not that Peter would know that, of course.

“You dare to speak to your betters with so little respect, mortal?”

“When you don’t show any respect to me either? You call me mortal as if that were my only defining quality. And while I’m well aware that I’m not your equal, I won’t let you reduce me to insignificance either.”

“I see,” the fae hummed thoughtfully. “You are not the first mortal to make that claim, but few have ever been able to lend credence to it.”

“Why should I prove myself to you? You haven’t been granted access to these lands. And yet you’re here, taking what isn’t yours.”

“Do you have a stronger claim on what you think I have taken, then?”

“He is my father!”

Indignation ran hotly through Stiles’ veins. Nobody was allowed to speak this dismissively about one of the most important people in his life! Nobody. Not even someone who was used to always getting what they wanted. And suddenly it was easy to fix the fae with a stare. It caused their careless expression to morph into intrigue and their posture to straighten.

“Is he now?” they purred, not even trying to pretend they didn’t know what Stiles was talking about. “Interesting! I may have misjudged you, young spark.”

Stiles suppressed the shiver that wanted to take hold of him. He wasn’t sure that he liked being at the center of the fae’s attention. There was a chance they’d see too much. But… fake it till you make it, right?

“That’s not much of an apology. And it’s worth nothing at all if you insist on keeping him away from me.”

“Your loyalty is commendable. I would like to learn the reason for it. Why do you want him back this badly?”

“Why do you want him? As you said, we’re mortals. Beneath your notice, I’d say.”

The fae regarded him impassively for several agonizing seconds, as if trying to decide if he deserved to get a truthful answer.

“I admire his dedication,” they finally said. “His conviction. His morals. He makes a very fine guardian.”

Not good enough!

“So you removed him from the realm that needs him? Excuse my bluntness, but that doesn’t sound very logical to me.”

“He could be of great benefit to our realm as well, if only he would accept my offer.”

“That’s never going to happen, though.”

“Then he spoke the truth?” they asked mournfully. “His true name is lost?”

“It is. And since he’s unavailable to you, I’d like him to be returned to his rightful place.”

“I am not inclined to let him go.”

Was it possible to strangle the fae? Would that have any effect on them? He didn’t think it would, but for lack of any other options, he allowed himself to fantasize about it for a moment anyway.

“What use is he to you, though? Even if you keep him with you, without you knowing his true name, he’ll stay mortal. What is the rest of his lifespan compared to yours?”

“His use may not be for many, but it is for one. I happen to enjoy his company. And because his time is so short, I am unwilling to let him leave my side.”

Enjoy his company, did they? Stiles sincerely doubted that his father would have reacted well to being kidnapped. Was this particular individual into verbal disputes? Battles of wits, maybe? That even sounded plausible. But it didn’t change his opinion on the matter.

“We’re at an impasse, then. Because I am unwilling to let you keep him.”

The ensuing staring match might have gone on for quite a while. Stiles was definitely determined enough to force the issue. But he never found out who would have caved first because the air was accumulating static again, and shortly afterward, a slightly dimmer portal than the previous one opened and spat out another figure. A figure that seemed to tower over the other one—not so much due to their size, but to their sheer presence.

Peter took a few cautious steps backward, dragging Stiles with him. At the edge of the clearing, Jordan was pacing. Stiles, on the other hand, was far past worrying.

He needed answers. Now!

But the newcomer spoke first.

“Why are you so intent on causing trouble, Little One?”

“Because you keep calling me little, Elder,” the other one replied, sounding surprisingly petulant. It was rather amusing to see, after they had tried that same method on Stiles mere minutes ago.

With an exasperated shake of their head, Elder turned around to acknowledge Stiles and Peter. Something like recognition seemed to flicker in their eyes, which Stiles didn’t like at all.

“My apologies, Guardian,” they said with a barely-there hint at a bow. “My companion is still young and prone to rash actions. I hope they did not do any damage.”

Ohhh, nice try at understating the issue! They had to know that lines had been crossed. No way would he let that stay unaddressed. But first things first.

“I’d say what they did goes hand in hand with what you did, doesn’t it? After all, they wouldn’t have been able to abduct the sheriff of Beacon Hills, if your community hadn’t ignored the local alpha’s order to leave his territory.”

“Are you speaking on the alpha’s behalf, then? If you are here as his enforcer, you would be out of luck. Because we are not inclined to heed his wishes.”

“Aren’t you? What happened to your kind and his kind staying out of each other’s businesses—any previous arrangements notwithstanding?”

“You know of the Unspoken Rules?”

“Thanks to someone who grew up with tales of a rare but peaceful treaty. Someone rightfully concerned about the recent events. If I’m correct, and your community is the same one that used to reside alongside the Hale pack, your current antagonism is somewhat of a surprise.”

“But that is the point, Guardian. Our arrangement was with the Hale pack, not with whatever that group of misfits under alpha McCall’s rule is supposed to be. So, are you speaking on his behalf?”

“I am not. My interest in this situation has more personal reasons, although I’m beginning to suspect that I’ll have to become a lot more involved than I’d anticipated. Which I don’t appreciate.”

“Why are you not already involved? I can feel your connection to the land. And yet, you let incompetence reign in your domain?”

His what now?

“Look, why don’t we start from the beginning?” he asked, hoping that Elder would be more willing to talk than Little One. “You clearly are part of the same community that used to stay here, and who tried to return but was rejected a while ago. So, two questions, I guess: Why did you leave back then, and why did you come back when you did and didn’t take no for an answer? If you’re here for the Nemeton, the timing is odd, to say the least.”

Elder considered him with a thoughtful expression, probably pondering just how much to reveal. Stiles began to grow restless under their stare. Were straight answers really too much to ask for? Did they have to think about every question at length?

“How much do you actually know about the Nemeton?”

Was that a trick question?

“In general, or the one here in the preserve? Because there’s a difference. Nemeta as a whole are sacred places—sinister, if you believe the Romans, which I’m not inclined to. Some are even places of power. But not necessarily solitary trees. Ours, on the other hand, is a protector. Or it’s supposed to be. Used to be, as far as I know. Can’t very well protect anyone or anything while tainted by a nogitsune’s influence and reduced to nothing more than a stump, right? It’s healing now, although I can’t say how far along it is. The local druid would know more.”

And again, the fae stared at him as if they were trying to discover all his secrets. Stiles willed himself not to fidget. They wouldn’t be able to exploit a weakness if they didn’t know it existed, after all.

“It became a protector,” they said eventually, “when we began to teach the Hale pack how to nurture it. Before, it was only a place for worship, rapidly losing significance as more and more mortals abandoned its goddess. These days, even druids have stopped following the longstanding traditions, and the world is a poorer place for it.”

“So, you’re saying you stayed until you were sure they had the hang of caring for the Nemeton, and then you left it in their capable hands? That sounds incredibly selfless. And sorry, but I don’t believe you did that without gaining something from it as well. Some kind of return for your investment, if you will. What was it?”

“I do not see how that is any of your concern.”

“Don’t you? I’d say it’s relevant information since you came back for it. You risked an alpha’s retribution by going against his orders for it. You’ve been sticking around for it over the last few years. And all of that has an impact on the locals. It’s common courtesy to be open about your intentions, wouldn’t you agree?”

Oh, it was clear that they really didn’t want to. And Stiles knew without the shadow of a doubt that he would never be able to make them do something against their will. But for whatever reason, they finally relented.

“You said it yourself: Some nemeta are places of power. This one, if properly cared for, is one of them. To excess, even. It is power that can be shared without it weakening from it. We happened to have need of that power in the past.”

“Not anymore, then?”

“Not for now.”

“Then why are you here again?”

“Because the Nemeton is in a poor state. Our teachings seem to have been dismissed at best, and willfully worked against at worst.”

“But that’s been true for decades. Yet, you only returned when the worst was already over. Why is that?”

“We did not know of its abuse while it happened. We returned the moment we learned of its distress. And we stayed in order to find out how it had been kept from us for so long.”

“And did you?”

“We did.”

“Well? Would you share with the class?” Stiles asked, trying not to sound as impatient as he felt. Why was trying to get information out of the fae such a tedious process?

“It had been behind a powerful barrier of rogue magic that shielded it from our view. It is still there, but it is weakening. Once the barrier had thinned enough that we could feel the Nemeton again, we immediately knew something was wrong.”

“Can something be done about that?”

“Yes,” they answered promptly, for once. “We told the alpha what had to be done. We offered him the same treaty we used to have with the Hale pack, but we were refused. So we have started the process of recovery ourselves. Tell me, Guardian, how attached are you to the current alpha?”

“Not that much anymore, these days. Why?”

“Once the process is complete, we’re of a mind to remove him.”

“And what about his pack? You’d doom the wolves among them to an existence as omegas?”

“I am sure a solution could be found for them. But it is of no concern to us. None of them are necessary for the well-being of the lands. Especially since all of them have been touched by the magic that kept the Nemeton hidden from us.”

What an utterly scary thought!

“Touched how? Are you saying they’ve been compromised? If so, how strong is that influence? How far does it reach?”

“Our observations revealed that the whole territory is compromised, as you say. The magic’s sole purpose seems to be to cause unrest. It feeds on it. But not everyone is affected equally.”

“Can they be saved?”

“That depends entirely on how long and how intensely they have been exposed to the magic.”

“What about any of us here in this clearing?”

“A spark, a wolf, and a hound. Strong of character each. Neither of you are part of the pack—not in any meaningful way. So, despite the many years both the wolf and the hound have been exposed, the magic has never been able to take hold of them past superficial effects. And you have magic of your own that protects you from corruption. All of you will be fine.”

“Are you sure? My magic didn’t save me from being possessed, years ago. How is this situation any different?”

“Maturity and experience. Since it happened years ago, you would simply have been too young. Magic takes time to reach its full potential in a mortal. But rest assured that there is no mark of possession left on you.”

Stiles hadn’t known how much he’d still been worried about possible long-term effects until now. So the sudden flood of relief caught him by surprise.

But good to know that magic users had an advantage here. Speaking of which.

“And Deaton?”

“Who?”

“The local druid. If my magic has kept me safe, that should be true for him, too, right?”

“You forget that we have been sent away. Who do you think gave the alpha that idea when he seems to be such a trusting person, otherwise?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“A druid’s purpose, aside from caring for the people they serve, is to maintain balance.”

Another seeming non-sequitur. If this was actually leading somewhere meaningful, it couldn’t be good.

“As he’s been happy to remind us all the time,” Stiles agreed anyway.

“Then ask yourself why the corrupted magic has been able to linger for this long, and why the pack under his care is the most affected.”

“He’s been using the magic instead of cleansing it?” Peter growled so close to his ear that Stiles jumped. He’d almost forgotten he was here. Oops?

But that was a valid question. One would think that someone so obsessed with balance would want any magic to be as neutral as possible. What did it say about Deaton that he’d apparently kept the corruption strong?

“Using?” Little One chimed in. “No, Wolf. That would have been an easy situation to rectify.”

“Then what exactly is he doing?”

“He exists.”

~

Peter

For a moment, Peter knew nothing but all-encompassing rage.

The implications of the fae’s reply were horrifying. And as much as he’d tried to be a supporting presence to Stiles since they’d arrived in the clearing, it was Stiles’ presence that kept him from doing something he might regret now.

So, Deaton’s very existence was the reason the territory was contaminated? What did that mean? Had he become corrupt himself and was inadvertently feeding into it? Or was he actively helping? And just how long had all of this gone on?

The thought that the fire might have been—

It was suddenly hard to breathe.

Hadn’t he thought just yesterday that it seemed like history was repeating? If the fae were right and the magic took hold more permanently in someone the stronger the exposure was, then it meant that not only Scott would be heavily influenced by it, but Talia might have been, too.

If only he hadn’t been so focused on proving himself back then. Maybe he could have noticed—

“Hey, Peter.”

Oh! When had Stiles turned around and come so close?

“Are you back with me now?”

Was he? Hmmm. The hands—one on his back, one just under his jaw—definitely helped to keep him grounded. But would that last if Stiles let go? Did he want to find out?

He brought his own hands up to rest on Stiles’ hips, leaning in to scent him.

No. He shouldn’t risk it. His hold on his sanity wasn’t firm enough right now.

And to hell with not showing weakness in front of the fae.

He gave Stiles the barest hint of a nod.

“Good. I don’t know where your mind just took you, but maybe we should hear the full explanation first. And maybe it won’t actually be better than what you imagined, but at least you’d have certainty instead of a list of what-ifs.”

He couldn’t argue against that. So he lifted his head to look at the fae over Stiles’ shoulder. Both of them were staring at them with thinly veiled interest.

That… was odd. He hadn’t been able to focus on them before. Would have been better if he still couldn’t, because knowing that you were interesting to the fae wasn’t a pleasant feeling at all. Maybe they’d be able to distract them with something else before they parted ways. Not very likely, but worth a try anyway.

“I want you to elaborate on your claim,” Peter said, his voice uncomfortably raspy. “And I want to know what we can do about it.”

“A proactive approach,” the older one replied, sounding pleased. “Commendable.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at them.

“You’re stalling!”

“Might be that they’re unfamiliar with the concept of time as we mortals know it,” Stiles quipped, and turned around in Peter’s arms to keep the fae in his sights as well. “But that doesn’t mean either of us has to like the results.”

“Certainly not,” the fae conceded. “And to answer your question: The druid does not use the magic because he is the magic. Or, to be more precise, the corporeal manifestation of it. We cannot be sure when exactly and why the corruption became so strong that it grew sentient and… solid, but it did happen. And ever since then, all its efforts must have been expended on maintaining its avatar.”

“What kind of efforts?” Stiles asked, tense in Peter’s arms.

“From what we have learned about the events of the recent decades, it would have needed to keep the territory in unrest. Upset the balance as thoroughly as possible. Turn people against each other. Bring out the worst in them. We have identified several key events that support our theory. The peaceful periods never lasted long.”

As much sense as the explanation made, and as much as Peter now started to question many of his decisions over the years, something about all of it just didn’t want to add up.

“You know all this, and you never did anything about it?”

“It was not for lack of trying. We have been largely confined to our realm. A preference, for the most part. But also due to the magic’s influence—which we have realized only recently. We might not have noticed anything amiss for a good while longer, had the magic not started to fade. But our hands will continue to be bound until the avatar has disintegrated completely. We cannot say how long it will take if we let it happen naturally.”

“And why has it been fading?” Stiles asked, echoing Peter’s own thoughts.

“This is only a guess, unfortunately, but we believe that it became complacent. It has the alpha’s loyalty, and through him, it has kept a certain level of instability. But it turned out not to be enough.”

“And so Deaton began to take longer and longer leaves of absence. How has nobody ever questioned the validity of his claims?”

“As far as we can tell, the pack as a whole does has very few direct dealings with the druid. The only one who needs to be convinced is the alpha.”

“Who trusts him blindly,” Peter added bitterly. “What would you want to bet that it was Deaton, who vouched for the Miller pack?”

Stiles’ eyes widened with sudden understanding.

“Ohhh! The whole ordeal kept bothering me, but it makes sense now! It must have been an attempt at reintroducing conflict. If Miller’s plan truly had been a hostile takeover, there’d have been plenty of that. And Deaton’s situation would have improved a lot.”

“Which is why something should be done about it soon,” the younger fae said eagerly.

“And what is your plan? I thought your hands were bound?”

Peter was aware that his sarcasm wasn’t very productive. But with the enormity of this morning’s revelations threatening to overwhelm him, he needed some kind of outlet, and this was by far the safest one. Besides, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t like the answer. That just made him more prone to cutting remarks.

“They are. Until today, our only option was mitigation. By caring for the Nemeton while the druid was away, we could weaken his hold on the lands and on his body, little by little. Not much, in the grand scheme of things, but it bought us time.”

“So what has changed?” Stiles asked warily.

“We found you, Guardian,” the older fae said with a gleam in their eyes, and Stiles blanched.

“No!”

“You do not even know what your task would be.”

“I can guess from the way both of you have been eyeing me, and from the way you insist on calling me Guardian.”

“You want to pitch one man against a threat that even you couldn’t deal with?”

“Oh, but he would not have to work alone. I am sure he would have you at his side the whole time. Am I wrong, Wolf?”

By the way the younger fae kept staring pointedly at how close Peter and Stiles were standing together, Peter knew they knew they weren’t wrong. And that, dear friends, he thought to himself, is why you should never give the fae leverage.

That ship had well and truly sailed, though.

“And how would the addition of one other person be any better?”

“By giving you the means to succeed. We would be offering you a deal. Mutually beneficial, of course.”

“Of course,” Stiles muttered darkly. “And what exactly would that deal entail?”

“First, we would regift the alpha spark to a candidate of our choosing. Second, we would appoint a capable emissary. Two steps that would all but guarantee the establishment of a stable pack. Third, we would renew our previous treaty, to see to the wellbeing of the Nemeton and the safety of the land.”

It was a bold offer. One that sounded close to perfect on the surface, but had hidden barbs that could make you bleed. Metaphorically speaking. If they agreed, they’d have to pay the price. And it couldn’t be anything but steep in a situation as dire as theirs.

Especially since they hadn’t even known the dire situation existed in the first place until less than an hour ago. How should they have ever come to these conclusions from the few hints they’d had?

And since this deal was so far from the one they’d come here to make. In all the excitement, they’d let themselves be steered away from the sheriff’s retrieval!

“Well, I don’t need to ask who you want the emissary to be,” Stiles was saying before Peter could bring up the issue. “That position would require its occupant to live on pack land, though, right? You see me as a guardian, and I can’t even argue against it because of my line of work. But that work stands in direct conflict with the duties you’d want me to perform. You’re asking me to give up what I consider my calling. Which doesn’t mean I’m completely against it just yet, but you have that working against you.”

Both fae were inclining their heads in acknowledgement but stayed silent. Stiles took that as his cue to proceed.

“My decision also hinges on who you’re planning on giving the alpha spark. There aren’t many people I’d tolerate as my alpha, and the wrong choice on your part will be a dealbreaker.”

“Since our previous treaty was with the Hale pack, we would greatly prefer the new alpha to be a Hale as well.”

Did they now? There were a few ways this could go—some good, and some… not so good. Which Peter would resolve to tolerate as long as there was a Hale alpha again. He hadn’t known how much he craved that until the possibility was dangling right in front of him.

Stiles, on the other hand, sounded doubtful.

“Not many to choose from, these days, though. And the majority of them are determined not to return to Beacon Hills.”

“Because there was no guarantee of a stable pack,” the older fae replied. “But we are confident that will change with an alpha who still values family and the territory.”

Yes! There was not much that Peter would do anything for, but the promise of family was right at the top of that short list. Not too surprising that the fae knew what was important to a Hale, though, if they’d had repeated contact with the pack over the course of a century.

“But considering how much trauma is tied to this place, you’d still need a damn good lure to make your candidate return.”

“Not if he’s already here.”

For some reason, Peter hadn’t expected that bomb to drop. Granted, there had been a time during which he might have been a tad obsessed with becoming—or staying—an alpha. But only because it had seemed like the only way to stop being so damn vulnerable. And while he’d been actively fantasizing about dethroning Scott over the last few months, he hadn’t seen himself as his successor. Still didn’t, if he was honest.

“Me?” he asked, if only to make sure there wasn’t a mistake. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Yes. You remind us a lot of the Hale alphas of the past. You are also already performing several of the alpha’s duties despite your position in the pack. The adjustment period would be short for you.”

“And I think you would greatly enjoy working with your emissary,” the younger fae chimed in too cheerfully for Peter’s liking. “Provided that he accepts, of course.”

When he sent a glance Stiles’ way, he caught him staring back with wide eyes. He hadn’t seen this turn of events coming either, then. Not averse to the idea, though, if he read his reaction right.

“Huh,” Stiles said and turned his attention back to the fae. “Looks like—in a surprising turn of events—the deal is not completely off the table yet. Doesn’t mean that I’ve already agreed, mind you. Because I have non-negotiable conditions that need to be met before I even consider saying yes.”

“State your conditions, then.”

“First, we need proof. Proof that Deaton truly is the corporeal manifestation of corrupt magic. I have no idea how you’ll do it, but without the proof I’ll say no.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. I want my father back!”

For the first time since their arrival, the fae looked utterly bewildered.

Meanwhile—also completely unexpected—Peter experienced what he could only call warm and fuzzy feelings at realizing just how ruthless and opportunistic Stiles could be. At any other point in their negotiations, his demand would have given the fae room for all kinds of counter demands. But this way? Since they wanted the lands cleaned and the Nemeton at its peak again so badly, they wouldn’t be able to refuse anymore.

Here he’d thought they’d let themselves get sidetracked, while Stiles, apparently, had only waited for the perfect moment. And with the fae’s attention being solely on Stiles right now, Peter’s slightly feral grin went unnoticed.

~

Stiles

With a wildly hammering heart, Stiles was waiting for the fae to react.

He knew he was gambling, with stakes so high the thought alone was making him dizzy. And while the outcome of his gamble should be all but guaranteed, could he truly count on a rational response if the fae felt that he’d gone too far?

When it didn’t seem like they would react at all, he nodded at Little One and said, “That was what I’d come to this clearing for, in case you’re still wondering. The spell I was performing was supposed to locate him. Imagine my surprise when it got me you.”

That made Elder look at him sharply.

“You are saying that the human in our realm belongs to you?”

“I wouldn’t use quite so possessive wording, but yes, he’s family. The only one I have left, in fact. I feel like that makes my claim on him stronger than yours. You could theoretically have any human.”

“None of the other humans are him,” Little One insisted.

That was… an unexpected complication. How had the fae gotten attached this fast?

“What makes him so special to you?” Stiles had to know.

“I already told you. He has qualities that greatly appeal to me, and the potential to become so much more than his mortal limitations allow. But he never lets these limitations hinder him. I would have been content to observe him from afar, had he not come across my portal. It was magnificent to watch him in his element, keeping the territory safe. And he accepted my assistance so readily.”

“Your assistance,” Stiles repeated flatly. “Is that what you’re calling the abduction?”

“Of course not! I only made sure he was able to keep up with the intruder. He deserved that victory.”

“Then why didn’t you let him finish his job? Why remove him right before he could make the arrest? You say you care for the safety of the territory. But your actions make that hard to believe.”

“The wolf was getting ready to attack, like the cornered animal he was. I couldn’t let my favorite mortal be hurt.”

“My father was armed, while the wolf only had his claws and teeth. There was no real danger to him.”

“A human’s body is too fragile to risk any kind of injury. I did him a favor.”

“Have you at any moment thought about the consequences of your decision?” Elder interrupted.

“I was not aware there were any consequences to be had.”

For all that the fae as a whole were known for their cunning, their lack of knowledge of the modern mortal world was amazing in a disturbing kind of way.

“Oh, I can believe that with no problem at all!” Stiles said. “Granted, you couldn’t have known that your actions would invoke the displeasure of someone you’d end up wanting to make a deal with. So while I certainly am displeased, I can’t truly hold it against you. But you’re obviously not familiar with human law enforcement. Otherwise, your observations would have revealed that you’ve set your eyes on the county sheriff, and not just any random human that might not be missed if they were gone.”

The blank looks he received made him elaborate.

“A sheriff, by the way, is a high-ranking official with a very public presence in the community. You may have tried to ensure he wouldn’t be missed, but it was never going to work with someone this high up in the hierarchy. There are simply too many others who depend on him. And that alone would have been reason enough not to take him.”

“I see,” Elder sighed. “And the return of the sheriff will ensure your approval of our proposed treaty?”

“It’s not a decision I can make on my own. I will need to talk to everyone it would affect if I agreed. Will you grant me the time to do so?”

“How long do you need?”

Long enough to bring Rafe up to speed and propose a rather bold idea to him. But maybe, just maybe, everyone would be happy with the results.

Chapter Text

Peter

It was nearing dusk when they finally got together again in the preserve. Most of the day had been spent talking and waiting. Neither of those strenuous activities, and yet, Peter could feel exhaustion pull at him. He wasn’t sure how that would affect what was to come.

He also wasn’t sure whose day was going worse than his right now.

Jordan was pacing at the edge of the clearing again, warily eyeing everyone. As tension was running high among them, Peter couldn’t blame him for expecting things to escalate soon.

Scott was glowering. He hadn’t taken it well when he’d been told that his search-and-rescue mission had to stop. He was still utterly convinced he’d find the sheriff lost and injured, if only he could go through the whole preserve with a fine-tooth comb. According to him, precious minutes were being lost now. Minutes that the man might not have.

Liam’s predominant emotion was confusion—for the time being, that was. He’d been with Scott when Peter had found them and had insisted on coming along. Something about having his alpha’s back and suspicious circumstances. Good instincts, generally speaking, but operating on faulty intel. He’d learn that soon enough. It would be interesting to see what he’d make of that.

The fae had brought a small delegation, each of whom looking like they’d rather be elsewhere. Peter supposed they were there for formal reasons. Who knew what kinds of protocols would have to be observed in the finalization stage of a treaty, after all? Peter surely didn’t.

Stiles was pensively staring at his phone. Word had it that McCall senior had insisted on attending, citing a vested professional interest—whatever that meant. The man had yet to arrive, though, making Stiles get antsier by the minute.

Two key players were missing, though: The sheriff, who was probably being held back for now, in order to encourage Stiles’ compliance. And Deaton—although Peter would dearly like to know how that one’s attendance could be secured when he apparently wasn’t entirely “there” anymore. Time would probably tell…

At some unseen signal, the fae began to spread out around the clearing, effectively boxing everyone in. Scott noticed immediately, and his attention snapped to the fae in charge, demanding to know what was going on.

“We are ready to begin now,” the fae answered, just as McCall senior entered the clearing and came to a stop next to Jordan.

A hush fell over the present company, watching the Elder step forward and raise their hands in a sweeping gesture.

“As previously agreed, there are certain requirements to be met and acknowledged before a binding treaty can be established. First, we would like to bring forward the requested proof.”

Following this declaration, the fae standing closest to Scott muttered an incantation that brought the alpha to his knees.

Pure shock seemed to keep Scott docile for a few breathless moments afterward. But as magic slowly rose around him, he finally started to struggle. Peter was standing close enough to be able to identify the spell as a cleansing.

Oh!

That was how!

Very clever.

With Deaton’s hold on Scott being as strong as it had to be after all these years, the attempt to free him from it would be the most reliable way to make the “man” appear. It wouldn’t matter how weakened he might be already because the last thing he would want was to lose his last firm grasp on this plane of existence.

And sure enough…

“What is the meaning of this?!”

There he was, and there was their proof that the druid couldn’t be human.

He had practically materialized in front of the spellcaster, unnaturally pale and not fully there, and radiating hostile energy as if he had no control over it.

Ignoring the demand, the Elder addressed Stiles.

“Has the proof been supplied to your satisfaction?”

“It has.”

“Then we can proceed.”

The spellcaster now muttered another incantation, and the magic surrounding Scott unwound, only to wrap around Deaton.

The process seemed to be painful for both of them, leaving them gasping and clawing at their throats.

Scott slumped forward after a moment, only barely catching himself from falling over. Deaton, on the other hand, was writhing in the confines of the fae’s magic, evidently wanting to escape, but being firmly held in place.

“Second,” the Elder continued. “The transfer of power.”

Peter steeled himself. He still had mixed feelings about becoming an alpha again, his past failings stark in his mind. But given the alternative…

No. Despite his doubts, this was the best solution. Didn’t all of Beacon Hills deserve some peace, at last? True peace, that was—not just the mockery of it, as it had been under Deaton’s rule.

As he stepped forward, he found to his surprise that the alpha spark had already been lifted from Scott. When had that happened? Had he been so preoccupied with his own worries that he had missed it?

He didn’t have any time to think about it further, though, because the Elder had already begun to recite the oath Peter had only heard once before in his life. Long ago now, when his mother had passed on the reins to Talia.

“Do you, child of the Hales, swear to fulfill an alpha’s duties, to nurture your pack, and uphold the values of the Goddess?”

“I swear.”

“So be it.”

The alpha spark manifested inside him agonizingly slowly, despite the briefness of the ceremony. This was another point, in which it deviated from the one he’d attended before. Not that he’d expected it to go any differently. After all, the spark had not been freely given this time, but taken from an unfit predecessor.

While he was still trying to get used to the energy now thrumming through him—so much more pleasant, now that he wasn’t irreparably insane while he held it—something else caught his attention: The pack bond he’d first felt this morning blazed golden for a second and then settled warmly behind his sternum.

Looking up, he found Stiles’ eyes already fixed on him, blazing with an intensity that made him want to close the distance between them and—

It was hard not to finish that thought, and even harder not to act on it. But unfortunately, other things were more important for the time being.

“Third, we return what was wrongfully taken.”

This, for example.

The opening of a portal went unnoticed by almost anyone other than Stiles, Jordan and Peter. It was unremarkable to the fae, McCall senior and Liam were too focused on Scott’s now unconscious form, and the druid was in no condition to pay attention to anything.

Good! Stiles deserved an undisturbed reunion with his father, after all. And it would probably help Jordan’s peace of mind immensely to assure himself of his superior’s wellbeing while nobody else was watching.

Well… while almost nobody else was watching. Because the sheriff hadn’t been the only one to step out of the portal—his kidnapper had been right on his heels.

And now, the fae in question was staring longingly at the hugging Stilinskis, looking for all the world as if their spirit had been crushed. If they hadn’t caused them so much trouble with their ill-advised actions, Peter would actually feel sorry for them.

One could only hope they’d learn from their mistakes. Because treaty or no, if they overstepped again in the future, they would like the consequences even less than they did this time around.

“Has your condition been fulfilled to your satisfaction?” the Elder asked when Stiles stepped back from his father.

“It has,” Stiles answered, just like the first time.

“The first part of the treaty is now complete. Will you do us the honor of taking the final step?”

Peter blinked in surprise. He hadn’t thought the fae would truly be willing to demand nothing in compensation for the sheriff’s return. That they apparently were willing showed either a great amount of trust or just how concerned they’d been that the damage might be beyond fixing.

Maybe both.

“Stiles?” the sheriff asked now, looking pensive. “What have you done?”

“Nothing that you need to worry about. I promise.”

“Knowing your penchant for understatements, that actually doesn’t make me worry less.”

Stiles grinned, patted his father’s shoulder with a wink, and then faced the fae again.

“If I had any doubts about your sincerity before, they’re gone now. You’ve kept your part of the bargain, and I’m sure you will continue to be honorable. So, yes I will take the final step.”

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“The final step of what?”

“A treaty, dad. One that will keep the territory safe for a long time to come. And as an added bonus, you’ll see a lot more of me from now on.”

~

Agent McCall

Ever since Rafael had learned of Stiles’ solo run to Beacon Hills, he had waited for the other shoe to drop. He knew his agent, after all, and all the trouble that tended to find him.

And yet, nothing could have prepared him for the call he had received almost forty hours into his ultimatum. Because who would ever guess there was such a thing as honest-to-god personified evil magic? What the hell was wrong with that place?

The more Stiles had told him about the situation, the stronger his dread had become. His own son compromised… A territory so contaminated that not even fae magic could deal with it… It had seemed to be far above all of their pay grades.

But there’s a solution, Stiles had said, and Rafael had foolishly allowed himself to be relieved for a moment.

What had followed had been hours of phone calls to people so high up in the food chain that even he had had a healthy dose of anxiety running through him at the thought of asking favors of them. And then a mad dash to Beacon Hills, to be on site for the grand finale.

It would be easier, he’d argued to himself, to coordinate things in person, once the fucking treaty with the fae had been made. Easier, too, to see Scott for himself, to gauge how bad the damage was…

He’d arrived just in time for the ceremony. And it had been a shock to witness what was happening to Scott. Even the enormity of seeing Deaton like that had paled in comparison to Scott collapsing into a dead faint after he’d been stripped of his alpha spark.

It said a lot about his failings as a father that it had taken so much suffering for him to rediscover his love for his son.

The rest of the proceedings had been a blur to him. He knew that Stiles had been formally appointed as the emissary to the newly reestablished Hale pack, and that the lengthy process of cleansing the corrupted magic and with it the disintegration of its humanoid manifestation had been started. But he couldn’t recall any of the details.

As they’d been ushered back into town once the fae were happy, Rafael had spent the night at Scott’s bedside. Eventually, Melissa had arrived, and they had talked. Civilized, even, for the first time in years. It had still left him numb. Because again, it shouldn’t have taken such catastrophic events to finally get to this point.

A call from his team the following morning had rudely awakened him from a couple of hours of restless sleep, and it had been hard to follow their updates on the Miller pack. But if he’d understood it correctly, they’d finally identified all members of the pack and had been able to connect them to a number of unsolved crimes all over the States. Ironically, it had turned out that the wolf in their custody had been the most harmless one. The only one whose weirdly generic name had not been fake. Newly bitten, as of a year ago, and completely in over his head. There might be hope for him yet. If he learned from his mistakes…

With sleep well and truly out of his reach by then, he’d finally gone to Stiles to discuss his new status and what that meant for his future with the FBI. Given that most of what he had to tell him had been suggestions made by Stiles himself, he’d been sure the conversation would go well.

Hale, on the other hand, had been a total wildcard—and a bit of a surprise to encounter right at the sheriff’s doorstep. But apparently Stiles had not wanted to be parted from his father just yet, and the instincts of a new alpha were strong. That was all the explanation he’d gotten from Stiles. Apart from that strange expression on his face as he’d said that. Rafael had decided it was none of his business. The less he knew of Stiles’ personal life, the better, after all.

And now, both Stiles and Hale knew that a new office would be opened in Beacon Hills within the next three months. And that Stiles, despite his duties to the pack and the territory, would stay part of a team that would cover Northern California as far down as Sacramento, and part of Nevada as far as Winnemucca.

Hale had glowered something fierce at that, but hey, if Rafael had to share one of his best agents from now on, the alpha could very well share his emissary, too! It had certainly helped his case that Stiles had eagerly nodded along with his explanations.

With the establishment of the outpost, he’d probably lose Edwards, too. She’d already expressed an interest in returning to Beacon Hills, positively giddy at the thought of occasionally working alongside a hellhound, sir, isn’t that exciting??? He supposed she’d fit right in, here, then.

All that was left now before he could return to San Francisco—where people were sane—was sorting out the mess that was left of Scott’s pack. And the shadow of his son that Scott had become.

He spent the rest of the day talking to the former betas. The wolves, bar Liam, it turned out, were all to happy accept the offer of leaving Beacon Hills and receiving help with finding new packs for them. The non-wolves would apparently be fine without and would simply go their own way now. That was more than fine with Rafael. Less work for him, right?

And then there was the hardest part: Returning to Scott and telling him of his options, while having to watch his awfully blank face. Telling a tearful Melissa, too… But she agreed that it would be best to take Scott with him and get him the best therapy money could buy. And maybe, one day, Scott might even be capable of returning to Beacon Hills.

As he made the necessary arrangements with Melissa, he allowed himself to hope for a brighter future.

~

Stiles

Stiles woke up snuggled to a mighty alpha for the third morning in a row, and marveled at how natural that felt. Marveled, also, at how it had been less than a week since he’d found Peter on his doorstep. Three horrifying days and three frankly amazing ones. A lesser man might get whiplash from that…

But here he was. Emissary of the Hale pack, strongly bonded to his alpha—so strongly, in fact, that his father was getting suspicious—and anticipating the return of the lost son… and daughter… Okay, that metaphor sucked. Sue him, it was still early and his brain was mush, thanks to all the serotonin.

Anyway, just yesterday Peter had been speaking to Derek and by the time the call had ended, there had been promises of a visit. And of course, Derek would bring Cora. And then the Hale pack would be a family again.

Well, if… when they decided to return for good. Stiles was sure they’d be able to convince them.

And then his phone erupted into the vibrations of several texts arriving in short succession. At… seven in the morning. What the hell?

“If that’s Liam, tell him he’s an adult and who can deal with his problem himself for a couple of hours, for once.”

Hmmm… Raspy voices of handsome alphas were doing things to Stiles…

“Especially when my emissary starts smelling like this. Mute the infernal thing. Right now!”

“Yes, alpha,” Stiles said with a purr, just to see what Peter would do, and managed to mute his phone just before Peter grabbed for him.

Then the world was spinning, and suddenly he found himself on top of a rumpled-looking sleepy wolf.

“Good morning,” he smiled and leaned down to rub his cheek against Peter’s.

“Don’t know if it’s good if that insolent pup thinks he can disturb our much-needed rest.”

“Cut him some slack. He’s not used to having a mostly functioning adult as his alpha. And a helpful guy his own age as his emissary. He’ll probably calm down, once the novelty wears off.”

“Ugh, can’t wait!”

Stiles laughed and proceeded to rub his cheek against Peter’s chest this time. The fact that it caused his beard to catch against Peter’s chest hair was weird though. When was the last time he had remembered to maintain the thing? Before Rafe had promised them a guaranteed twelve-hour-break, he thought.

“Damn… I need to shave.”

“No, you really do not!”

“Ohhh, does the big bad wolf have a kink?”

If he’d been with anyone else but Peter, he might have been embarrassed by the shriek of laughter that escaped him when he was unceremoniously thrown on his back to receive the punishment for his transgressions.

He liked that punishment, though, and he wasn’t too shy to let Peter know.

And if that made him a kinky little shit, too, they were a nicely matched pair.

Just as it was supposed to be.