#fandom cares

He had told himself he wouldn’t let anyone manipulate and use him like that ever again. If he was with people, it was his choice. He slept with people, after, in New York. But it was always quick, with the express purpose of getting off, and then he was gone. A few times, someone did something she had done and he had had to stop it. Eventually he stopped trying when it became too much to try to avoid his own mental minefields. His own triggers.

He thought he’d never be used like that again, never manipulated like that again. But then Jennifer happened.

He tried with Braeden. He did. He was able to sleep with her a few times - but eventually she tried to get more intimate by touching him in ways that had brought back memories, or kissing him in a way that made his skin crawl, even though he knew that wasn’t her intention. One time she started taking his clothes off without him agreeing to it, and he let her do it. But it felt too much like Kate for him to be able to bear it.

They didn’t last long.

It made Derek wonder why sometimes he could get through sex and sometimes he couldn’t. Why some things brought back the memories and some things didn’t.

By the time he made it back to Beacon Hills to help Scott, Derek hadn’t slept with anyone since Braeden. He was tired of trying, so he stopped.

Stiles, though, was another story entirely.

They first kissed in Stiles’ DC apartment, after the events in Beacon Hills. Stiles had to get back for classes, and Derek had never intended to go back to Beacon Hills to stay. Stiles offered him a place to stay, and Derek said yes.

It took months, but Derek’s feelings began to grow, and eventually Stiles’ as well, as Stiles was the one to ask him first if he could kiss him.

Derek shocked himself by saying yes, but when Stiles leaned in tentatively and kissed him softly on the lips, Derek’s nerves were set alight, his blood pumped faster, and pleasure tightened in his groin, made butterflies fly through his stomach.

Derek wasn’t sure he’d ever felt quite like that during just a kiss.

Derek was scared to have sex again, but he wanted Stiles, badly. He didn’t know what to do.

But Stiles seemed patient. He didn’t try to take more than that kiss, and when he pulled back, he smiled softly at Derek, and Derek couldn’t help but smile back.

Derk began work at a mechanic’s garage over the following months. He knew cars and needed something to do, so he applied. And he found that he quite enjoyed it there - his coworkers were nice, his boss was fair, and he loved fixing cars.

He and Stiles didn’t have sex, but they’d kissed. A lot. Made out heavily on Stiles’ couch. They talked and agreed on exclusivity.

And yet Stiles never demanded or even asked for sex. When Derek brought it up to him, Stiles smiled and said he wasn’t ready for sex yet either.

“Either?” Derek had asked.

“I know you want me, Derek, but I can also feel your hesitancy and fear, as well. I’m not going push it, because I want us to do this right. You’re important to me.”

Derek had definitely been stunned. In all his sexual encounters before, he’d never waited, and his partner had never wanted to wait. 

A few weeks after that, when they were making out on Stiles’ couch once again, Stiles went onto his back and pulled Derek on top of him. When he ran his hands under Derek’s shirt and pulled it up a few inches, Derek pulled back.

Derek had never felt comfortable enough with anyone before to voice his fears, but with Stiles, it was different. With Stiles he felt he could voice them and not be laughed at or ignored. “What are you doing?”

Stiles froze, looked up at Derek in slight shock, and moved his hands away from Derek’s back, letting them fall to the couch. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I got caught up in the moment. Was that not okay?”

“It was…” Derek cleared his throat. “It just felt like you were going to take off my shirt.”

“Oh…” Stiles breathed, shifting slightly underneath Derek. “Did you not want me to?”

“I, um…” Derek took a few moments to think about it. He thought, with Stiles, it might not be so bad to be shirtless. But it had felt automatic by now, to pause when anyone tried to take off his clothes. “I think...I think I’d rather do it.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, and that was it. Okay. Derek waited for Stiles to say more, for him to ask questions, but he didn’t.

“I’m...ugh, I’m sorry,” Derek murmured, and he sat up, then, breaking their connection.

“Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for ruining...this. I’m just…” Derek struggled for the right words. “My...experiences….sexually, they haven’t always been...well, they’ve just-”

“Not been great?” Stiles sat up as well, leaving about a foot of space between them. “I know,” Stiles murmured. Derek looked into Stiles’ eyes at that, when before he hadn’t been able to meet them. “Kate.”

“And Jennifer,” Derek swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“Right, she tricked you too,” Stiles winced.

“She didn’t just do that,” Derek said, and hands were shaking so bad he clenched them into fists to try to stop it. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears, and he had to look away from Stiles again. “She used those virgin sacrifices to...do something to me. Magic me, I guess, into liking her. Feel something for her.”

He heard Stiles gasp next to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at him.

“I wasn’t just tricked. I remember the foggy feeling in my head whenever I was around her, and even when I wasn’t, this strange physical pull to be with her. Not just like a wanting to be with her, like how I feel with you, not even just an attraction to her. But like something was physically trying to get me to go to her. I was able to ignore it sometimes, but sometimes it was so bad that it actually felt painful.”

When Derek looked at Stiles, he saw that he had tears in his eyes, and his jaw was clenched tight as if in anger.

“I’m so sorry, Derek,” Stiles whispered. “I know that’s not nearly enough, and that it can’t change anything. But I am. So fucking sorry that happened to you.”

Derek sucked in a shaky breath.

“Did she-” Stiles cut himself off.

“Did she what?” Derek urged him to say it, even though he knew what Stiles was going to say before he said it.

“Did she rape you?” Stiles whispered. He winced right after he said it, but Derek didn’t. Because he’d never outright thought it to himself, but he’d known in the back of his mind all along what it was.

“Yes,” was all Derek could say.

“Can I...can I hold you. Just hold you?” Stiles asked. And him asking made all the difference for Derek. Because if Derek said no, Stiles wouldn’t have. He would have backed off. Derek knew it in his bones. Which is what allowed him to say yes. Because if he said no, he knew he’d be heard and listened to.

Derek found himself lying on Stiles’ couch, his head on Stiles’ chest, with Stiles’ arm wrapped tentatively around his shoulders. Stiles put on the TV to some news station, and they watched mindlessly, saying nothing as they just lay there, wrapped around each other, and offering comfort.

Derek had never felt so safe in his entire life.

He realized, then, that he was crying, and he was never more grateful for Stiles ignoring that he was, that he just continued to hold him and run his hand through his hair after he asked him if he could.

Derek knew, right then, that he was falling in love with Stiles. A deep, passionate, forever kind of love. It scared him. It made his heart pound faster; it even made him sweat a little.

But he didn’t move from Stiles’ arms, and he didn’t even want to. Because along with the fear, he felt...happy. It was an amazing, extraordinary feeling that Derek wasn’t sure he’d felt since his family died. Maybe even since Paige.

Derek wanted to hold onto that feeling as much as he wanted to push it away.

He did it in equal measure after that. He was still cautious, he was still wary, as much as he was excited and eager to be with Stiles.

They did more as the months went on, and Stiles asked for permission with everything they did. Derek asked for it too, because one night Stiles admitted to having some intimacy issues as well. He’d only ever been with Malia before Derek, but they hadn’t always communicated during sex - as in, they never did, Stiles admitted.

“It wasn’t rape...but she did things during it that I didn’t like. Even when we weren’t having sex. She never seemed to have a problem with anything I did, so I never asked. I think I should have. To be honest, she and I were over almost as soon as we started.”

Eventually, he and Stiles got to doing more than just over the clothes things. They got down to just their boxers, and they touched each other over the material. Then eventually, under it. They both made sure they were consenting the whole time.

Some might have been annoyed by the constant “is this okay?” and “is it still yes?” during sex, but Derek wasn’t. And Stiles assured him he wasn’t either.

“It takes two seconds to ask the question. It hurts no one to take the time to ask, to pause and make sure. If it’s no, then it’s fine to stop. The world doesn’t end just because I didn’t get off. Your safety and happiness is more important to me than that, always.”

Derek had been so stunned he’d cried, just a bit. He’d always thought Stiles would ask before if it was a yes. But he’d never thought he’d stop in the middle of it if Derek needed him to. He’d never known that was okay to ask for.

With Kate, she bowled over any objections he had, any worries. If he stopped, for just a second, to ask if they could wait to do something, or if they could just cuddle and talk instead, she’d tell him to shut up with a laugh and continued kissing him despite his protests. He’d always thought it wasn’t rape because his body had responded to it. He’d been attracted to her.

Sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes he was just a horny teenage boy who had a hot, older woman who wanted him. But sometimes...sometimes, he wanted more, or something different than just quick and dirty, rough and hard. But she never allowed that. She had never allowed them to cuddle or talk that much.

He knew why now, but at the time he’d wondered if she liked him that much at all. But then she’d laugh and blush and kiss him sweetly and say she couldn’t wait to see him again, would then wink at him and leave, hips swaying, and a look over her shoulder at him before she left, and he’d forget his worries.

He shouldn’t have, though. He should have listened to his instincts, but he hadn’t. He regretted that every day.

Stiles...Stiles was completely, one hundred percent different. One time they were in bed and Stiles was kissing down his chest and gave a teasing bite to Derek’s nipple. Derek tensed and asked him to stop, and Stiles did, backing off and away from him so that he was standing to the side of the bed.

If it had been Kate, or Jennifer, or hell, even Braeden, they would have looked at him, confused, and said “why? Your nipple’s hard, you liked it,” and would have continued. Or they would have laughed and continued. Or done anything different than that.

Braeden wouldn’t have had malicious intent, but she wouldn’t have taken that into consideration, what Derek was feeling. It had just been sex, after all, and that was all she’d wanted from him. If Derek had insisted, though, he knows she would have stopped. That set her apart from Kate and Jennifer. But she wouldn’t have stopped right away.

When Derek calmed down again, he asked Stiles not to bite him on his nipple, and Stiles nodded and said he never would again, unless Derek explicitly asked him to.

One time, Stiles brushed his hand lightly on the inside of his thigh and Derek had to tell him to stop, and Stiles did.

They learned each other’s bodies. They took their time to learn each other’s wants and desires, as well as the things they didn’t like and couldn’t stand. Derek one time ran his fingernails down Stiles’ back, fairly hard, in the throes of passion, and Stiles asked him to try not to do that anymore.

Whenever they were in bed again, Derek was always mindful not to.

When they got to blowjobs, Derek ran his fingers through Stiles’ hair and held on, tight. Stiles pulled off him and asked him not to. He didn’t mind him running his fingers through his hair, but he didn’t like his hair being pulled or held onto. Derek never did it again.

It was all these little things between them. These little wants and dislikes between them that they explored.

Stiles told him he’d never bottomed before and he wanted to try it. Derek told him he had, and he liked it.

When they eventually got that far, they both tried it, and they both loved it. Stiles whispered happily after one time that he loved the feeling of Derek so deep inside him as much as he loved feeling Derek around him when he fucked Derek. Derek agreed.

And it wasn’t just rough and fast all the time. Sometimes they slowed it down, kept it gentle, and Stiles was happy with that as much as he was with rough and fast. Derek prefered it slow and gentle more often than not, though, and Stiles was happy to oblige. Either way, it was never any less passionate.

One time, Stiles was fucking Derek, thrusting slowly in and out, and they were gasping, sweating, holding on each other. They didn’t use condoms, and it felt amazing having Stiles inside him bare, that he would come inside Derek. Derek was in complete bliss, drowning in Stiles’ kisses and his cock, when Stiles said something.

“You’re so beautiful.”

And then Derek was lost in a memory of Kate above him, holding him down, grinning, a look in her eyes Derek couldn’t decipher, that put him on edge, and then she was holding his throat in her hand, squeezing slightly, and she laughed as she said, “what a beautiful boy you are.”

It wasn’t the same, Derek knew it in his head. He knew it in his bones.

But pure instinct, his brain’s way of protecting him, made him flinch and push Stiles off and out of him so fast that Stiles gasped and fell off the bed.

Derek was apologizing before Stiles even hit the ground. Fuck fuck fuck.

Derek knew it wasn’t the same. Stiles’ words came from love. Kate’s had come from a twisted, dark place.

It didn’t stop him from having that gut reaction though.

Even as Derek apologized, Stiles was saying it was okay, it was more than okay. Derek almost cried.

“I thought I was past it,” Derek said, and turned his face away from Stiles.

“Derek,” Stiles whispered. He sat on the edge of the bed gingerly, away from Derek, not touching him. “It’s okay. I know you aren’t automatically cured of your past trauma just because we’re doing it the right away, or that we’re in a good place, or that we love each other. I know that. I told you that your well being and happiness was more important to me, and I meant it. I always will.”

“Love each other?” Derek whispered, and looked at Stiles. They had never said the words.

Stiles blushed and looked away. “I-I mean, I don’t know. I mean, I know I do. But I don’t know if you do, and that’s okay!” Stiles looked back at Derek, almost frantically. “You aren’t obligated to love me, I hope you know that. I just meant...I mean, I do love you, I do. I’ve just-”

Derek sat up and put his finger to Stiles’ lips, silencing him. Derek couldn’t believe that he had Stiles in his life. That Stiles wanted him, that he loved him. That he would never try to hurt him, that he would never want to. Not that he never would, just that he would never do it on purpose. That thought warmed Derek to his bones, and he grinned, letting out a shaky laugh. “I love you, too.”

“Oh good,” Stiles let out a shaky breath. “Or, I mean...awesome. Not that I would have like...left you if you didn’t, nothing like that. Just that it’s fucking awesome you love me back, okay, so-”

“Stiles.” Derek laughed, and then he cupped Stiles’ cheek. “Shut up.”

“Hey!” Stiles protested with a pout, but Derek just laughed again and kissed Stiles firmly on the lips. When he pulled back, he asked if that was okay.

Stiles just grinned and said, “More than okay, you goof.”

They didn’t go back to sex that night, but they held each other so tightly, wound around each other so tightly, and it felt better than sex, in a way. Sex was amazing with Stiles and it always would be. But having Stiles there, holding him, loving him, not caring if they had sex or not that night - or ever again, Stiles added - meant more to Derek than anything else ever could.

Stiles loved him. Not his body, him. He didn’t love what Derek could do for him, he loved Derek himself.

That was everything.

Jackson is there when Danny’s parents get divorced and his dad goes back to Hilo.

He’s there when Danny’s mom remarries and for the first time Danny realizes that big men with big hands don’t mean safety.

He’s there when Danny starts angling for more and more sleepovers, and he doesn’t ask why. Sometimes Danny thinks he can see the question in Mrs. Whittemore’s slightly pinched expression as she pours them cereal in the mornings—Danny stayed over again?—but she doesn’t ask. And Danny is so grateful for that.

Jackson isn’t good with computers, not like Danny is, but his parents are rich and he always gets the best and the newest gadgets as soon as they’re on the market, and Danny gets what he doesn’t need anymore. Jackson usually just clears out his closet, eyes rolling, and tosses Danny his old stuff. Sometimes it’s only months old too, not years. It doesn’t make Danny feel bad, because Jackson says otherwise he’d just throw it all in the trash.

It takes Danny years to see that Jackson only knows how to be generous in this very specific way. Like it’s a secret he has to hide by pretending it’s Danny doing him the favor. Jackson is brittle in ways that it takes Danny a long time to understand.

They don’t talk about it, but it’s understood.

Just like they don’t talk about Danny’s step-dad, but it’s understood.

Jackson decides Danny will stay over most nights, and gets pissed if he doesn’t. And Danny pretends that he’s too easy-going to resist Jackson’s demands on his time.

They don’t talk about it. Danny thinks that if they did, the whole thing might crumble.

Sometimes, Danny’s mom gets upset if he doesn’t sleep at home. The window in Danny’s bedroom overlooks the dead end of their street, which backs onto a vacant block of land. Behind that are the trees of the Preserve. Danny stays awake at night listening to the sounds in the darkness: the squeak of the floorboards as the house shifts in the cooler air, the low moan on the wind outside, and the tap-tap-tap of the branch against the siding near his window. When the full moon shines down, Danny watches the shadows slip through the trees of the Preserve, and the shadows watch him back.

Danny wonders if those things out in the darkness are awake because their chests ache as well.

One night he slips out the back door and walks toward the trees. He isn’t afraid. He feels the moonlight on his skin, and closes his eyes, and imagines a warm breeze and the taste of salt on his lips.

Whatever is out here in the darkness, it’s safer than what waits at home: a loud voice, a short fuse, and big hands that clench into big fists. Danny stands and stares into the Preserve for what might be hours before he finally walks back to his house.

In the morning, there are paw prints in the soft, damp earth under his window, and a smooth, shiny stone that something carried and left there like a gift. Danny puts it on his desk beside his laptop.

After the fire at the Hale house, Danny doesn’t find any more paw prints.

Everyone has secrets. Danny does, and Jackson does, and the Hales did, and Beacon Hills takes them and wraps them in dew-damp air and buries them deep under the sighing wind and the shuddering pines.

Everyone has secrets.

When Danny is fourteen he’s diagnosed with pectus excavatum. It means the cartilage in his ribs is growing wrong, pushing inward on his heart and his lungs. It’s a thing that can sometimes just happen. Sometimes it happens for a reason too.

All those times Danny’s felt like his chest was caving in, and it hurt to breathe, and his heart ached...turns out it wasn’t just hyperbole.

Jackson visits him in hospital, looking bored. He brings Danny an iPad that’s not even out of its packaging yet.

“It’s a piece of crap,” he says, tossing it onto Danny’s bed. “I told them I wanted space gray, not silver. How hard is that to remember?”

The nurse changing Danny’s IV looks at Jackson with disgust, but she doesn’t know him. She doesn’t know what this is.

When Danny comes out of hospital, he has pieces of metal inside him that are to stop his ribs from crushing his heart, but Danny knows that long before that metal there was something else, someone else, that did the same thing.

He goes to school again as soon as his doctor says he can.

“Hey,” Jackson says, and peels himself off the pole he’s been leaning against. He rolls his eyes when Scott and Stiles scurry past, Stiles flailing like always. “It’s about time you got back. You’re sleeping at my place tonight. We’re having pizza. Don’t be late.”

He doesn’t ask. He never does, because it doesn’t work like that.

The forest was always a loud symphony of life, but it grew quieter as Peter followed a trail of blooming Bolander’s Lilies. His grandmother had shown him Bolander’s Lily the night before as she read from their book of flowers until he fell asleep. Peter had been so excited to see the rare and beautiful flower and his small feet carried him deep into the whispering trees. With his arms full of lillies Peter started hearing soft humming; he was immediately nervous and yet he also felt himself drawn to the sweet melody.

He soon found himself standing outside a circle of candles and flowers he’d never seen before, not even in his books. Peter had been so focused on the wonderful new flowers he could give his grandmother he hadn’t realized the source of the soothing melody was watching him.

“Hello little one.”

Peter flinched. He hadn’t meant to get so distracted by the wonderful flowers in front of him, good boys always paid attention to their surroundings. He looked up at the speaker shyly, scared he was about to be reprimanded.

“What brings you out here, precious?” The man speaking to him had pale skin and bright burning amber eyes.

“My Abuelita likes flowers. Yours are pretty.” Peter replied nervously, still waiting for the punishment he knew was coming.

“We all enjoy the delights of flora don’t we? Would you care to give me your name darling boy?” The man now wore a smirk Peter had only seen on his Uncle Michael right before he did something bad.

The question sent up a flag of warning though. His grandmother had always told him to never give someone his name. All those nights sitting on the floor at her feet as she told the family the warning signs of a trickster fae and it still took Peter a while to recognize the slightly pointed ears, the too sharp teeth, the slight glow about him, the ring of plants he was in. Peter was going to get in so much trouble.

He shook his head to signal that no, he was not going to give this fae his name.

“Ah yes, ‘Stranger Danger’ as the humans these days call it. If you give me your name we won’t be strangers. Here, I’ll start. You can call me Stiles.” The fae gave him a wide smile.

Peter shook his head again and mumbled a quiet, “I know what you are mister.”

The fae’s eyes flashed a bright gold as he squatted to eye level with Peter, “You know what I am? How peculiar. Was it your Abuelita that told you about me and mine?”

Peter made the motion of putting a key in his mouth, locking it, and throwing it over his shoulder.

The fae laughed a bright happy laugh that made Peter think about the warm summer days he’d swing on the porch with his grandmother.

“Fair enough little one. If I cannot have your name I will think of one to call you instead. Come here and let me get a look at you.” The fae’s smile was welcoming and Peter felt himself take a step forward before his brain caught up and reminded him that once inside a faerie ring they will never let you out.

Peter shook his head again.

The fae laughed once more and looked at Peter with something like fondness in his burning eyes.

“Clever boy. You can stay there then.”

The fae’s eyes flashed again as he looked over Peter, who was feeling like he should’ve ran away a long time ago.

“Ah that’s unfortunate.” The fae tapped his index finger over his lips as he hummed.

“It seems your new name will be Ash Prince.” Something in the man’s voice seemed both sad and yet also pleased.

Peter opened his mouth to ask why that was his name, but between one blink and the next he found himself sitting in his bed surrounded by a small ring of beautiful and unique flowers, that definitely didn’t belong in this realm.

If he kept them for himself, no one had to know.

-

Peter continued to see Stiles throughout the years. He tried to stay away, to not purposefully seek the fae out, yet he always found himself just outside that ring of luminescent flowers. Stiles’ humming floating around on the breeze until it wound its way around Peter no matter where the boy was.

“Where are you going, mi corazón?” Peter’s grandmother’s soft voice found him from her place on the porch swing.

“Hello Abuelita.” Peter smiled at her as he altered his path to take him to his grandmother.

He settled in to swing quietly with her and watch the sunset, but unfortunately she was looking at him with a glint in her eyes that spelled trouble.

Peter knew better than to speak first and give her an opening, so he got more comfortable and let himself enjoy the gentle swinging as she stared at him.

“I know where you go when you think we aren’t watching.”

Peter smiled softly at her and continued to wait her out, he knew his grandmother and there was no way she was finished.

“I know they don’t see, but you should know that I do. And I hear mi corazon.” She lifted an eyebrow at him as if daring him to argue.

He would not.

“What do you hear Abuelita?” Peter asked quietly.

“I hear the death knell that rings each time you step into that forest. I hear the dirges that play each time you go beyond our reach. I hear our family’s lament each time you meet with that fae in the woods.” She gently held his face between her hands, “And I hear the love songs he sends you each time you feel alone.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. She was right. He knew meeting Stiles was wrong. He knew that with each visit he got closer and closer to that ring, to telling the fae his true name. Stiles was slippery yet dazzling, devilish yet charming, doom yet peace. Stiles was enchanting and Peter was lost in his spell.

His grandmother must have seen the turmoil on his face, because she ran a soothing hand down his arm and sighed, “I know my darling boy. You are only fifteen, and he has had you for nearly ten years already. Be strong mi amor.”

Peter nodded, tears welling in his eyes, and words stuck in his throat.

“He will come for you one day.” she leaned forward to place a kiss on his forehead before continuing as if she could speak directly into his mind, past the melody still calling him into the woods, “Remember your family. Remember my teachings. Remember who you are.”

Each sentence ended with a kiss until finally she sighed and leaned back into her space.

“Go to him mi corazón. He is waiting.”

Peter took her dismissal for what it was and kissed her head before he headed into the ever darkening forest.

-

“Stay with me awhile longer my beautiful Ash Prince.” Stiles was looking at him with earnest amber eyes.

“I cannot. You know I cannot.” Peter sighed.

Stiles huffed once before turning a sad little pout Peter’s direction, “What if I gave you more flowers?”

Suddenly Peter was surrounded by his favorite of the flowers Stiles had shown him.

“What if I gave you books?”

The flowers disappeared, only to quickly be replaced by great big chests filled with every book Peter could ever wish to read.

“What if I gave you nothing at all other then all of my attention for the rest of your life?”

The chests disappeared and all that was left was Stiles, hovering above the ring of flora so that he could lay on his stomach and yet still be eye level with Peter.

The human rolled his eyes fondly.

“You are sly and quick Stiles. I can never let my guard down with you. One wrong word and I’m just another brainless human slave.” Stiles opened his mouth to protest but Peter continued, “The fun is in the fact that I will not submit. I am too smart to fall into your beautiful deadly traps and you like a challenge.”

Stiles righted himself so that he could stomp his foot while he crossed his arms and frowned like  child.

Fourteen years they’d played this game. Fourteen years of Stiles trying to swindle Peter’s name out of him. Fourteen years of almost stepping past the ring of flora when he relaxed too much around the trickster.

Peter was turning eighteen soon which meant college was on the horizon. College, a job, a life of his own was waiting for Peter outside of these comforting woods,and of the loving home he’d grown up in. He could not keep Stiles. He could not continue the wonderful back and forth banter they had together. It was time for Peter to grow up.

“I leave tonight and I will not return.” the finality in his voice was a shock to both human and fae.

Stiles tried to call for Peter as the man walked away, but he would not return.

-

Peter returned to Beacon Hills the summer after his freshman year of college. He felt like a new man. He felt changed in a way that made him embarrassed to talk about. Somehow he felt both more mature and incredibly immature all at once. It had only been a year and yet for better or for worse,  Peter was different.

All summer he heard Stiles’ songs. All summer he ignored them. He was done playing games with the fae and he would not let himself act on the temptation. As the weeks passed the melodies became increasingly chaotic, like he was trying to tell Peter something with his songs because the man would not go to him.

Peter ignored the warnings.

As he laid burning, listening to the screams of his family around him Peter wished more than anything in the world that Stiles would come save them.

“I’m here my sweet Ash Prince. What do you ask of me?” Stiles voice washed over Peter’s burning body, making the dying boy smile.

“Save them. Please Stiles.” The words were a croak on the ash filled air.

“If you’ll give me your name darling boy. I’ll never let anything hurt you again.” Stiles words brought him back to that warm summer day when he was surrounded by his favorite flower and meeting an interesting stranger for the first time.

“My name is Peter Lobo Hale. Save my family Stiles.”

-

Peter woke up in a beautiful green forest in a country he did not know.

“Where are we today my love?”

Stiles smiled brightly at him and gestured to the trees around, “Welcome to the Black Forest!”

“And why are we here?” Peter asked, the corner of his mouth curving up in a smirk that showed a bit of fang.

“All apart of your introduction to the wonderful world around you darling!” Stiles’ joy made the male glow like a small star.

Peter would never tire of basking in the warmth Stiles spread with each grin, cheer, and exaltation of ecstasy.