#9timesoutoften

"It tells me things," Stiles says. "It tells me about Scott's asthma--it can't fix it, it says, but it can make it better while he's around me--and about Mrs. Andrews' dogs--four puppies, can we have one?--and about gossip. The wind really likes gossip." He scrunches his nose. "Boring gossip. But sometimes it tells me about new movies at the theater. Like Batman!"

"What does it say about Batman?" Claudia asks, patting down Stiles' hair.

Stiles tells her. He tells her every little thing, always happy to talk about the wind. No one else believes him and for a while it doesn't matter because his mom does. It takes years until he finds that this won't always be the case. That one day he won't have her in his corner, that she won't always be herself. Both he and the wind choose to remember her from Before. The wind tells him stories about her. Like his parents' first meeting, which the wind tells differently than his dad does (there's more alcohol involved). After, there is confusion and pain, and her cries of regret that she passed the wind onto him.

His dad shakes his head and holds him close. "It's alright, Stiles. It's alright. She remembers me and you, and she loves you so much that she remembers all the stories you used to tell, it's only that she doesn't remember them in the right order, or that they're not real."

By age nine, Stiles knows better than to insist that the wind is real. Even Scott doesn't believe him anymore. He used to when they were both four, five, six, but it's not the same anymore. Nothing is, after his mom dies.

The wind comforts him in the only way it knows how. It tells him stories of funny things happening all over town, of animals that are moving through the forest, of the werewolves in the preserve. The wind swears that it's not lying, but Stiles doesn't completely believe it. The wind is real to him. Werewolves are in books and movies. The wind sighs at him and nudges him gently to keep him from falling off the monkey bars. It doesn't matter, anyway. One night Stiles goes to sleep and wakes up to the wind telling him that the werewolves are no more.

"Peter," the wind says. "Find Peter."

It takes two months for Stiles to be allowed to visit Peter.

"He's still healing," the nurses tell him, shooing him away from the room. "He needs his rest."

Stiles makes a face. Peter is getting too much rest already. He's in a coma. When he's finally able to visit, Stiles lurks by his bedside for a while, then slumps down into one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs. Looking back toward the door to make sure that he won't be yelled by a nurse, Stiles prods gently at Peter's hand and asks, "Why are you so important?"

"Because he's yours," the wind tells him, and it flutters against his face. "Stay with him, Stiles."

The wind doesn't tell him what to do very often. And when it does, it's always because Stiles is in danger or it's important, so Stiles agrees. Even without the order, Stiles likes the idea of Peter being Stiles', of being tied to another person in a way that might be like the wind is tied to Stiles. In a way that's strong, unyielding, eternal. Stiles visits Peter as often as he can, holding his hand and telling him all about his life. He tells him about the wind, too. Peter can't tell him it's not real if he can't speak. If he can speak, then Stiles has already won. As he gets older and bigger, his wind does too. Peter is the first person Stiles tells when the wind is able to hear past the boundaries of Beacon County. He thinks one day his wind will grow to go up to Oregon, or even farther east. Maybe he'll be able to reach the whole of North America! The wind only encourages his ambition. 

It tells him more as he grows up. Stiles is ten when it tells him about the deaths it sees and that not all of those deaths are natural. He helps as much as he can, secretly logging into his dad's computer to arrange ways for his dad to realize who the culprit is. He's still too young now, unable to do anything to help in the heat of the moment even if he can get to the crime in time. He's too easily overpowered by a lucky grab or some asshole with a knife, but he won't be young forever. In the meantime, he asks his dad for shooting and self-defense lessons. Growing up with a sheriff for a father, Stiles is a big believer in the law. He knows just as well that the law has limitations, gaps, and Stiles will one day be the one to fill those gaps.

Eventually, he asks for more information about the Hale fire, and the wind tells him. It promises to tell him the moment an Argent crosses into Stiles' land. At age sixteen, that's most of northern California and parts of Oregon and Nevada.

Stiles doesn't always use his powers for good. Often he'll ask the wind for answers to test questions he doesn't know or he'll let the wind correct his mistakes. The wind is very good at chemistry; Stiles is not. Sometimes, Stiles thinks the wind manages to douse his bunsen burner's flame just before he makes a mistake, but the wind always insists that they're not that powerful. Yet. To the wind, there is no Stiles and it, only them. Stiles doesn't mind. With his mom gone and his dad so often at work and Peter not awake yet, it feels good to have someone in his corner, even if it's an entity that Stiles doesn't truly understand.

He's in class when the wind tells him that Peter is waking up.

Stiles stands from his desk, abandons his backpack and textbook, and says, "I have a stomachache. I need to go to the nurse's."

He doesn't wait for the teacher to give him permission. Stiles runs down the empty halls and out a side door, then makes his way to the parking lot. Coach Joe yells after him while third period gym class cheers him on. It's the most enthusiastic a group of high schoolers has ever been about his presence. Listening to an unseen voice and being pretty damn weird does no favors for one's social status. The wind lets him know that his playing hooky is on its way to being reported to the high school office staff, so Stiles pulls over and sends his dad a text message to say he's going to the hospital. Then he pulls over again to clarify that it's because Peter's waking up, not because Stiles is hurt. His dad won't be happy either way, but at least he won't be panicking over his kid.

He skids to a stop at the long term care's visitor's section in a parking spot that all but has his name on it and follows the route he knows by heart. When he arrives, he sits down across from Peter's wheelchair and realizes that the wind hadn't mentioned that anyone else noticed that Peter woke up. Peter isn't acting any differently, either, just staring at the wall, and Stiles' excitement begins to wane. For all he knows, the wind got overexcited over Peter unconsciously lifting his hand and now here he is, about to get a month of detention and a lecture from his dad. Stiles sighs, loudly. And then he takes Peter's hand in his. It's force of habit; it feels weird to be there without holding Peter's hand. Early on, the wind told him something about werewolves needing positive contact to build pack and Stiles had decided that if Peter's pack wasn't pulling their weight, then Stiles would be here for him.

"Please be awake," Stiles says quietly, trying to meet Peter's sightless gaze. "I'm not very patient, everyone knows that, but I've been waiting a really long time to meet you. It's rude of you to keep ignoring me for six straight years." When Peter's blue eyes are the first to finally, finally change, his gaze turning slightly to meet Stiles', Stiles takes a short breath. It still doesn't feel as though there is any air in his lungs. "Peter?"

"You must be Stiles," Peter rasps, speaking his first words in six years. Stiles is too shocked to even speak, while the wind whispers smugly in his ear that it told him so. Peter is awake. The corner of Peter's mouth on the side with the burns twitches upward. "Too surprised to speak? I don't mind. I've been trying to speak for years. I have a lot to say."

"Yeah?" Stiles asks, delighted. He leans forward and says, "Please do. I can't promise I'll be completely silent. I don't know how."

Peter doesn't look dismayed. "That's alright. I do have a lot of questions."

And he does. Stiles answers all of them as honestly as he can. Peter doesn't ask for the source of Stiles' answers until the very end, and it is only then that Stiles hesitates. But the wind brought Stiles to Peter, and Stiles rediscovers hope. Hope that Peter will believe him, that Stiles won't need to hold this secret alone forever. Peter listens carefully as Stiles speaks. The wind says that werewolves know when people lie. Stiles doesn't mind; he has nothing to hide. Peter is sharp, even if his words come out slowly, and occasionally he stumbles over a syllable. If this is what he's like just out of a coma, Stiles can't wait to see him in a week, a month, a year. 

"Why are you here?" Peter asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I can understand curiosity, but Stiles, you have visited me nearly every day for years. It can't be that simple."

Stiles shrugs. It's both simple and not. For him, who grew up with the wind, who is inseparable from it in the best of ways, it is absurdly simple. For Peter, who doesn't trust the wind as Stiles does, it may not be. "The wind says you're mine. That's all I need."

Peter tilts his head, his blue eyes flashing. "What does it mean, to be yours?"

Stiles shrugs. "Whatever you want it to be. For starters, I could help you find the people who did this to you and your pack." He doesn't need to say the words. It feels like he's been on the edge of this his entire life. It's maybe not a nice offer, but he thinks Peter will appreciate it more than platitudes and offers to help with physical therapy. "It's the least I can do."

"And the most?" Peter all but purrs, evidently content with Stiles' offer.

Stiles smiles. "I guess we'll see."

And he stands up, holding out his hand out to Peter. Slowly, Peter does the same, rising on his own power inch by inch. Stiles itches to steady him. Peter takes his hand. His touch is warm. His scars look better when there is intelligence behind Peter's eyes, when they aren't marks of the past but marks of the future. They'll find the people responsible. Stiles already knows of a few. And later, there's a whole future out there. Stiles has a feeling that Peter might want to join him in it.The wind wasn't wrong. He cares about Peter. It feels inevitable, like the flow of the wind.