Chapter Text
“There you are!”
If Peter hadn’t heard the approaching steps at the last possible moment, he might have jumped at the sudden exclamation. It was a good thing that Stiles didn’t know how to do anything quietly. He’d fail at any covert operation, but Peter’s damaged senses preferred it this way.
It was hard to believe sometimes that it had already been ten years since he became… less. Laura would vehemently disagree if she knew where his thoughts were currently dwelling again—she’d insist he was still very much the wolf he used to be—but Peter knew what he’d lost in the fire. What good did his fierceness do if he wasn’t able to back it up with actions? Any ordinary human was capable of sneaking up on him these days. Unless that human was Stiles, that was.
Stiles, who had now taken the seat across from him and had already stolen the complimentary cookie that had come with Peter’s coffee. Oh well… It wasn’t as if he’d have eaten that anyway.
“So,” Stiles said with an unrepentant grin. “This is where you’ve been hiding all day, then? Imagine my disappointment when I came home, and there was one person less around to greet me.”
“Only one?”
“Well, I knew that dad would be on shift and that Laura has ‘important things’ to do—her words, not mine—but that just means I got only half the welcome I expected. If I didn’t know any better, I’d start thinking I’m not your favorite anymore.”
“Have you ever been?” Peter couldn’t help but issue a challenge just to see how Stiles would react.
“Ouch! You wound me!” Stiles said, pressing a hand to his heart and looking convincingly hurt. But he ruined it by grinning after only a couple of seconds. “Nah, you can’t make me believe that. I know I have a special place in your heart.”
“I’m not going to comment on that.”
“That’s all right. I’ll forgive the lack of formal declarations of love if you treat me to a coffee.”
Peter really shouldn’t be surprised. Stiles had always been this way, casually deciding for others if they liked him or not. The thing was, as much as Peter had tried to distance himself from the energetic ten-year-old Stiles had been a decade ago, the kid had grown on him. Because, unlike Laura and Derek, Stiles had never treated him as if he needed extra care.
Was it pathetic that he hadn’t put up that much of a fight in the end? Whenever he thought about it, he felt like their interactions should have been awkward—due to the age gap first and foremost, but also due to the secrets that had used to stand between them. And he didn’t even mean the “werewolf thing”. Because imagine his surprise when he’d woken up a few weeks after the fire, to find himself stowed away in the sheriff’s home, behind strong wards and the promise that no one outside of those walls would know the sheriff’s new housemates were the surviving Hales. Peter wondered if Talia had known that the head of the local law enforcement was quite the accomplished magic user with the means to back up his claims.
And, for that matter, had Deaton known? Peter hadn’t had many dealings with the man before the fire, but he’d gotten the impression that their emissary wouldn’t tolerate someone who could prove to be competition in his vicinity. But maybe he had, and that had been the reason why he’d left Beacon Hills after the fire.
“So, how about it?”
Now, Peter did jump. This was also something that the fire had changed for him: He’d never used to get stuck in his head like this. These days, it happened more often than he’d like.
“You’ll have to order it yourself, though,” he replied, shaking himself out of his funk. “I’m not going to be associated with whatever atrocity you choose.”
“I’ll be right back,” Stiles chirped. And then Peter got to witness the boy awkwardly flirting with the barista, but he got his beverage that he carefully carried back to their table.
“I’m still so amused that you have a tab at this fine establishment.”
“It’s convenient, and the staff knows I’m not going to disappear on them.”
“Yeah, they seem to have all but adopted you.”
“Please,” Peter scoffed. Just because he came here almost daily didn’t mean the staff cared about him in particular. There were other regulars. He wasn’t special.
“Feel free to tell yourself that. But someone who isn’t invested in your well-being won’t stare me down and demand I behave myself around you. Despite them knowing who I am. They obviously value you more than they value me.”
“They care about the tips I leave, I’m sure.”
“Sure—”
“Drink your coffee before it gets cold!”
“Okay, then. I know when to drop a topic. Wanna hear about my college shenanigans instead?”
Yeah, Peter absolutely wanted, especially if it meant Stiles would stop accusing him of being social.