#good alpha pack

Their bond had just been so strong, so sweet and alluring twined between them. Stiles wasn’t even sure if everything he thought he was feeling for Deucalion - the acceptance, the appreciation, the soft attraction - was genuine, or if it was something crafted from the bond. Hell, they’d just met; Stiles had no idea why he would have let the man sleep in his bed, let alone allow Deucalion up curl up behind him.

He had no idea how he’d felt so safe, how he could possibly warm to the man so quickly. It had to have something to do with the bond, but - but Stiles wasn’t even sure he wanted it to stop. He liked the attention, the way Deucalion felt pulsing in his chest and how the man's hand had felt around his in the car, or how his chest had felt against his cheek, or his back to Stiles’ chest. He liked having someone he could hold close, could count on to be there for him.

But Stiles didn’t know anything of Deucalion other than what his research had provided and what he had glimpsed going inside the man's mind. It created two conflicting images; the two so different that he had trouble seeing them as the same person. The Demon Wolf was unforgiving, ruthless in his reign. He played at executioner with ease, seeming to have no problem with taking lives.

But Stiles had seen more, had seen what Deucalion was and what he could have been. He had been a fair Alpha, kind in his reign, and he had listened to the opinions of his Betas, endlessly putting their needs before his own. He had cared for others; he had been a peacemaker. He tried for treaties with other packs, reached out when they needed help.

And Stiles could see him being that type of Alpha again; wanted to see him be that sort of Alpha again. He didn’t know if he would be enough, but he was going to try to be. He had to. Stiles wanted to be part of a pack he was proud of, could put his faith into and gladly walk alongside. That wasn’t what the Alphas were now, but maybe they could be more. Stiles hoped they could.

The kitchen was bustling with activity when Stiles finally stepped down from the last stair. He took a moment to watch, something warm and possessive curling inside his chest. His dad and Ennis were manning the stove side by side, while each of their mates sat on the island, watching. He wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with Kali sitting so close to Peter, but if the man felt safe there was nothing he could do about it.

He entered the room quietly, giving himself a moment to soak up the domesticity. Their kitchen wasn’t often a place where people gathered. Aside from the mandatory cooking he and his father did, they didn’t spend time in the room. It had been his mother's domain, a room where she held the reins, and it always felt too big without her laugh to fill it.

But watching his pack members move around it, Ennis towering in the space as he laughed deeply with Stiles’ dad, he felt something warm up inside him. It wasn’t the same as his mom humming to a tune only she heard, dancing around as his father watched, love-struck - but it was good, could maybe be great.

He leaned back into Deucalion’s chest, and the man letting out a surprised ’oh’. Their bond was so much stronger since the previous night, shining all the brighter between them. He’d been able to feel it when the Alpha finally woke, could track his energy as he moved down the stairs.

He wasn’t sure just why he felt so safe, why he didn’t flinch when the man placeda loose hand around his waist, softly hugging him to his chest. It could be the bond influencing him, coaxing him into trusting his Alpha.

The bonds he held with the other pack members - except Peter - weren’t nearly as strong, and he was hesitant to think why the one with Deucalion would feel like so much more. Yes, he knew a fair bit about Alpha/Emissary bonds. He’d done a good amount of reading and research when he thought he could maybe be that to Derek. So he knew about how strong they were, and how hard to break.

Unless something happened, unless - unless Deucalion died, he would probably stay bonded to the Alpha for the rest of his life.That thought was a little overwhelming, and he tried not to let himself panic over it. He had known that going in, had known the gravity of the decision he was making back in the forest, but he hadn’t seen any other options. Not with the way the Hale pack had been acting.

And even if he hadn’t been a part of the pack then, had already been pushed aside, he wasn’t going to let people he once cared for die. Not when he could have done something to stop it. And done something he had - even if the decision he went with had been on the extreme side. The Hale pack, his father, and the town were now safe from the Alphas.

And with his father cooking alongside Ennis, Peter chatting with Kali, and Deucalion a warm weight at his back, he found it hard to think he’d made the wrong choice.

Breakfast turned into a louder affair than Stiles had ever experienced. The pack had set up in both the kitchen and the living room, the four-person table they had not enough to fit everyone. His father and Ennis had cooked more than enough, going through multiple cartons of eggs and cooking more breakfast meats than Stiles had ever imagined seeing at one time.

It was nice, the noise. Their house had been too quiet for too long after his mother's death, when there was only Stiles, far too young to be taking care of himself as he was. It wasn’t something he often thought about, not when it was so far in the past and so much had changed since that time. It wasn’t important anymore.

Not when their house now had so much life in it. Deucalion had followed Stiles into the living room with a hand to the small of his back. Stiles was quickly becoming used to leading the other man, and he wasn’t going to complain, not when Deucalion’s skin felt warm through the man's shirt, the one he had slept in and never changed out of.

He held Deuc’s plate as the man sat himself on the loveseat and Stiles followed, crossing his legs when he sat, a knee resting atop the Alpha’s thigh. The physical contact was still easy between them. Stiles knew there was a conversation they needed to have, but he wasn’t averse to putting it off. He didn’t want to find out that it was all the bond on Deucalion’s end.

Stiles looked up when the twins and Cora entered the room. It was hard to tell them apart, even with their bonds shining within his chest. It was obvious that Cora favored one of them, and if Stiles let his magic rise in his chest, let it bleed into his eyes, he could see the tighter bond between those two. It was sweeter than the one Cora shared with the other twin and nothing like the one the two twins shared with one another.

“Cora is dating Aiden,” Deucalion said quietly into his ear, breath hot against his skin and making Stiles shiver.

He could hardly do more than nod.

He looked at the three on the couch and closed his eyes, letting the pack bonds he could feel in his chest glow brighter. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking away his inner magic and focusing back to the present. Aiden’s bond was sharper, than Ethan’s and now that he had figured that out he felt more comfortable with telling them apart.

His dad was seated in his armchair, Peter on the floor between his legs. Stiles felt a surge of emotion when he looked at them, his heart swelling in his chest as he smiled, leaning heavier into Deucalion’s side. The man said nothing about it, but their bond pulsed with warm acceptance, much sweeter than it had been earlier that morning.

Kali and Ennis had stayed in the kitchen, but Stiles didn’t mind. Instead he basked in the easy atmosphere of his pack. It was even softer than the night before, and his father being there made all the difference. This was his, his pack, his to protect and care for. He was going to take his oath seriously.

“So, what’s next, kiddo?” his dad asked, shocking Stiles out of his own mind. He hadn’t even realized that he’d finished eating, nor that Deucalion had deposited his plate on the side table for him.

“I’m not really sure?” Stiles admitted, shrugging his shoulders and looking around.

Ennis and Kali entered from the kitchen, Ennis sitting himself on the floor and Kali leaning against the wall like the she had the night before. Stiles hadn’t wanted to make any assumptions, didn’t want to push anyone into a decision they might be unhappy with. He still hadn’t known everyone well enough to know what they would want. He knew that would have to change.

“Well, we shall begin the search for a more permanent residence, of course.” Deucalion said it with an easy drawl, though Stiles felt how the man's arm tensed against his back.

“Hmm, I think that could be agreeable. John? How would you feel about moving?” Peter asked, leaning back against John’s legs. But Stiles watched how his dad tensed at the question, knew the mistake Peter had made.

“I feel like that’s not a conversation we’re going to be having in a room full of people, Peter.” There wasn’t any room for question in his voice and Peter just nodded, lowering his eyes. Stiles could see how the man's cheeks were beginning to heat in embarrassment.

“I want to go after Gerard!” Stiles blurted out, though he was quick to slap a hand over his mouth and look around, wide-eyed. Not what he’d meant to say, though both Peter and his dad were looking at him with thankful eyes.

“I - I just want to sleep.” Stiles said, though he clenched his fists in his laps, looking down. “I don’t want to wake up scared again. And I don’t think that is going to be possible if he’s still alive somewhere.”

“It’s okay kiddo, I understand,” his dad told him. His words made Stiles feel light, reassured in a way he hadn’t realized he had been craving.

“I’m up for some murdering,” Cora said, which worked to diffuse any lingering tension. Ennis chuckled deeply as he flashed his eyes, and Kali grinned.

“I - you guys don’t have to come. I can do it on my own,” Stiles said.

“Dude, you’re our Emissary now,” Aiden said, like that answered anything, instead of just making Stiles more confused.

“You may not feel it the way we do, but a bond with an Emissary is some pretty strong stuff. We want to help you.” Ethan added, leaning across the room to offer Stiles a fist bump. Stiles gave him one, and he couldn’t quite keep down his smile.

“If you’re all sure?”

“Of course, darling.” Deucalion said quietly even as he placed a warm hand on Stiles’ thigh.

Stiles didn’t miss how his father’s eyes narrowed.

He was thankful for the warmth nonetheless.

“I feel like there is a conversation we need to be having,” his dad began, blocking the hall light as he stood in the doorway of Stiles’ bedroom.

Stiles had tensed, already knowing where this would be going. “I definitely feel like this is a conversation we don’t need to be having.”

“Stiles,” John said on a sigh, and Stiles felt bad. It wasn’t that he planned on keeping anything a secret - he just didn’t want to be having this conversation. How was he supposed to explain to his dad the jumbled up mess of feelings that was his mind when even he didn’t know what was going on?

“Dad...”

“I’m serious, kiddo.” He entered the room then, planting both hands on his hips in his ‘sheriff’ pose.

It wasn’t nearly as intimidating to Stiles as it was to criminals

“Ugh, fine. Whatever, at least come inside so the whole damn house can’t hear everything,” Stiles knew his voice came out more of a whine, but he wasn’t able to bring himself to care. Instead he threw himself back on the bed and folded his arms.

“What - how would that make a difference?” His dad’s voice was confused, and Still felt bad again. He hadn’t been keeping his father updated with the progression of his magic. Instead, he’d been excitedly going to Peter every time he learned how to do something cool and exciting.

“I can soundproof the room?” Stiles said, raising his hands and letting his fingers spark for show. He closed his eyes and focused, pulled at his spark and willed it out from himself to cling to the walls. Then he pushed, forming a barrier to trap the sound in.

“Huh,” his dad muttered and took a heavy seat in Stiles’ desk chair. The man let out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping with it, and Stiles’ concern grew. His dad was obviously upset over something. Stiles sat straighter, already dreading the worse.

“How - how would you feel about moving?” his dad said with a flinch, as if even the thought made him uncomfortable.

And that Stiles had not been expecting at all. He had known his father and Peter had left and gone for a fairly long drive, and Stiles assumed it had been to talk about the strange comment made after breakfast. But Stiles hadn’t been expecting this.

“I think I would be okay with it?” And it was true. He would miss the house, sure, but ever since he got in touch with his spark, since his magic kindled bright and happy inside his chest, he’d felt close to his mom in a way he hadn’t since her death. He was connected to her in a way he hadn’t been before, and he didn’t need more than that.

But he knew his father didn’t have the same connection that Stiles did. While his mom lived on in the warm glow of Stiles’ chest, for his dad Claudia only lived on in his memories. “Would you be okay with moving?”

“I don’t know,” his dad said, though his head hung low and his shoulders moved forward.

“I think Mom would be happy, that you found someone else. I can see how happy Peter makes you, Dad,” Stiles said quietly, stepping closer and laying a hand on his dad's shoulder, squeezing. Stiles wasn’t expecting his dad to cover his hand with his own, nor was he expecting the tight squeeze he got in return, but he let the moment happen and didn’t pull away.

“The conversation with Peter went well?” Stiles asked after a long moment, letting his dad pull himself together as he walked back to the bed, dropping down with a bounce.

“God, that man is hard to say no to.” His dad exhaled, letting the tension bleed from his shoulders. Stiles couldn't help but smile just a little - John had never been very good at saying no to Claudia, either.

“I mean, I think you’re just weak-willed,” Stiles teased, smiling at his father. He was happy the man was moving on, especially after so many years. This was the first time his father had ever even dated anyone, and Stiles was more than thrilled that it was Peter. The man was becoming a large part of Stiles’ life, comforting and encouraging and supportive every time he helped Stiles with magic.

Not only that, but Peter had been spending so much time with them both, coming for dinner every night his father was home, and even some when he wasn’t, helping Stiles with his magic, or more often, his history homework. He cared for Peter, and not just because the wolf had been - was still - his Beta. He would have no problems with seeing Peter as a step-parent, was hoping for it. He saw how happy the two men were together and they both deserved it.

“Weak-willed or not, kiddo, we may be moving,” his dad said.

“I mean, knowing Deucalion it’s probably going to be something outrageously big, so,” Stiles mentioned, already able to picture it.

“Hm, and what’s this about ‘knowing Deucalion’? Because that sure comes as a surprise to me,”  his dad said with a raised brow.

Stiles bit down on his lip for a long moment, trying to think about what exactly he wanted to say. He knew he was going to be honest, of course he was, but he wasn’t sure what that even meant.

“Uh, well this was a conversation I was going to have with both you and Peter?”

“Why the both of us?”

“Well, Peter just kind of followed me? I wanted to explain to him why.” Why he bonded with a murderous Alpha, why he felt so comfortable in the man's space, why he thought Deucalion was safe.

“Okay, if you want we can wait and speak to Peter, but don’t think you’re going to get out of us talking about why there was a grown man sleeping in your bed last night.”

School started back up and suddenly Scott sat with the pack everyday, with all of them. Stiles quickly found that the pack table no longer held a spot for him, as though he were forgotten. It didn’t seem to matter that he’d been training his Spark, practicing to become their Emissary. It’s not as though h’s working himself to the point of exhaustion nearly each day this summer so that he could be faster, and stronger, and better. Not as though he hadn’t even the chance to prove himself.

Apparently, they didn’t care.

So he walked away. He walked away and tried to ignore how alone he felt. It - it could have been worse, given that he could truly have no one. He had his dad again - something he would forever be thankful for. Finding the man passed out drunk after school had been so horribly reminiscent of the period of grief and longing from after his mother died that for a horrible moment he was terrified. He had done all he could do at the time, helped the man up to bed and poured out the rest of the liquor.

The next morning, he broke. He told the man everything he could, everything he had needed to, for so long. He couldn't risk losing the man over something as simple as the truth, so Stiles told him everything. He started with the Hale fire, laying out all the information he could in hopes that his solid knowledge on the act would convince his father that what he was saying was the truth.

That night he curled up in his father's bed, breathing in his dad, gun oil and old spice and safety and curling up to the man, sleeping in the same bed for the first time since he had been ten and his mother had first gotten sick.

Once his dad knew, their relationship very quickly reverted to what it had so long ago been - dependable and strong. For so long they had been close, just the two of them against the world. Especially after his dad had dug himself out of the pit of alcoholism and they had been closer than ever, holding tight after nearly losing one another. The space between them had only began building when Scott got bit, when Stiles had to lock away an entire part of his life for his father's safety, and it had clearly weighed on them.

Now, now Stiles felt light.

He once again spent long afternoons in the station, curling up on the couch his father kept in his office, or wandering the halls, checking in with the Deputies who were still alive. The station was still a place of comfort, still felt like home whenever he walked in - the bitter smell of burnt coffee once again a constant in his life. This station had once kept him alive - the year after his mother died Stiles had once been taken care of by these people, when his father was still too broken to do so.

So it had felt good to be back, right. For the first month of school he spent near all his free time researching. Derek had said they didn’t know anything about the ‘Alpha Pack’ so Stiles made it a point to find out all that he could. If he couldn’t help with sniffing out Erica and Boyd, he would sure as hell make sure that he was doing something. He wouldn’t let them call him useless again, wouldn’t let them discredit him as ‘only human’.

So he looked into everything he could - he called packs in the area, made a map of places the Alpha pack had traveled to and put together a timeline of basic information. He talked to Peter and Chris (he’s not Gerard, he’s not Gerard, he is not Gerard), and only ever met either man in highly populated, public places. He wasn’t paranoid, but he would never set foot in the Argents home again.

Stiles still had nightmares. Even now, four months later he woke screaming and thrashing and needing help that he never got. On the nights his dad was home, the man would hold him tight against his chest as he cried. It - it helped. His father smelt like safety and the shape of his arms around him was familiar enough that it kept the memories at bay from where the darkness allowed them to creep in and take hold.

He still didn’t sleep near enough, but it was far better than those first few weeks when he would wake sobbing, nails digging into his skin as he clawed away the man's touch - fought with himself to push down the bile that always rose in his throat.

It was better now, with his dad, and some nights he were able to fall back asleep. The nights he weren’t, he continued his research. It was soon enough easy, learning to navigate the supernatural world came surprising ease after a little practice. First, he had mapped out everywhere the Pack had been seen for the last few years. They moved around often, visiting different territories seemingly at random. Sometimes they stayed and made ‘peaceful’ treaties, other times they wiped out entire packs.

Soon enough he knew who each member was, where they came from, and what they’d been through. He ranked how deadly they were, the way they fought and how to best them. In three weeks he obtained so much research on the pack he felt as though he personally knew them. It was something he could take to Derek and say, ‘I did this, I hold value, let me into your fucking pack’.

He was trying. If he couldn’t find his missing pack mates then he could sure as hell still be useful, still show that his humanity did not make him worth less.

He was probably killing himself, letting his body waste away and working it to the point of insanity. He didn’t care. Didn’t care that sometimes he got dizzy when standing, or sometimes his vision would turn blurry. He was helping. In his way.

That’s what he had thought anyway, until a Tuesday night near the end of September. He had just visited his mother's grave, alone. It was something he had never done before, always readily accompanied by Scott. The first few years Scott had to set the flowers into the vase himself, Stiles’ hand shaking too harshly for him to do so. The first time he was able to, Scott held him as he sobbed into the boy's shirt.

Scott had always been by his side and the other boy had been there when Stiles needed him. And he did, need Scott that is. Even if they were now hardly friends, let alone anything resembling brothers. Even if it was only Melissa he received a text from, the other boy seemingly having forgotten. Stiles still needed Scott, perhaps always would - at least one day of the year.

But Scott wasn't there, so instead of going home to an empty house and old memories and suffocating silence, he grabbed his folder full of three weeks of research and headed to Derek’s loft.

Stiles took a deep, calming breath. The stairs had been a little too much and he was gasping for air, chest burning and stomach empty. He wanted to throw up from the exertion, his body physically rebelling moving further for a few moments. He knew it had been long since he had ate, maybe even longer since he had slept, but he hadn’t quite realized just how long until this moment.

When he was able to walk, he knocked on the large metal door of the loft before pulling it open. He called out Derek’s name as he stepped through the entryway, stopping abruptly when he looked up. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, really.

None of Derek’s previous hideouts had been anything even remotely habitable, but this place wasn’t awful. What made him stop was not the three couches or the kitchen, but the pack. The entire pack was there, sitting inside what had to be the ‘living room’. Derek was in an arm chair on his own, Scott, Allison and Isaac curled up together on a couch, Lydia and Jackson on a loveseat and Peter - alone, head down - on the stairs.

Stiles was absolutely taken aback.

Not only did Scott forget what fucking day it was, but he was here. He was with his pack and clearly this pack was more important than his brother, or else Scott would have been with Stiles when he laid fresh flowers on his mother's grave. Stiles had known they had all gotten closer, had not been ignorant to their growing friendship, but Stiles hadn’t realized it was this.

He hadn’t realized it were movies nights, or cuddling close on the couch. Sharing spaces outside of class, choosing to spend time together. He hadn’t realized it were more than finding their missing pack mates, more than the urge or survival taking over to group them together, gather their strength and keep it close.

Stiles tried to swallow down the bile that was rising in his throat, tried to choke back the angry sob he wanted to let it. Instead he squared his shoulders and cleared his throat, throwing the most murderous glare he could muster at Scott before turning back to Derek, “I have some pretty useful information.”

“Is it about Erica and Boyd?” Derek asked, words clipped and short.

“No, but you should look-.”

“I don’t need you wasting my time, Stiles.” Derek said. He sounded put upon, as though dealing with Stiles were the most exhausting thing one could do in a day.

“Look, you should seriously read thi-”

“Dude why are you even here?” Jackson said from his spot beside Lydia, sneering at Stiles.

“I’ve been doing a lot of research, and I really fou-”

“Well can you leave?” Jackson snapped, tone all too familiar. The boy had bullied Stiles for years, and it apparently never stopped.

“Derek, ca-.”

“This is a pack meeting.” Isaac cut in, looking about as revolted with Stiles’ presence as Jackson had, “You need to leave.”

What hurts the most is that no one argues. Not Allison, whom he had been nothing but nice to. Not Derek, whose life he had saved - held him afloat in a swimming pool for hours - when it would have been easier to leave. Not Lydia, who he had seen before anyone else, recognize her for the value she truly held. Not Isaac, the boy who Stiles had been offering his help to for years because no one else saw the bruises or the twitching of his fingers - no not Isaac, as he was the one telling him to leave.

And not, not Scott. His brother, his best friend for so long. Had been the one person Stiles always knew he would have, right after his dad. Scott had been so much to him, had meant so much to him that Stiles often hadn’t known how to articulate it. And Stiles had always thought their bond went both ways. Though now, now he’s never felt more wrong.

It makes something bright and hot flare in his chest. He’s not sure if he wants to cry or yell in his indignation, but he’s furious. He’s furious because he gave himself to this pack, far more intimately that he ever would have liked. He was taken by Gerard because of this pack. Taken and tied up and, and - and more than Stiles is willing to think about. These people took so much from him, much more than he was ever willing to give for them.

And he knows better. He knows that he doesn’t deserve this, that he deserves far more. He doesn’t deserve to be looked down on, to be treated as though he is lesser. Insignificant. He had done too much for them, from the beginning had done more than he ever should have. He had killed Peter for them, took a life for most of the people in this room, and he is still thrown aside.

And then he had kept giving, gave his relationship with his father, his energy, his time. He had given all that he was, let them use him when needed. Then he had learned magic, pushed his body to the point of breaking only to toy with the edge, nearly falling over. And he had gotten nothing in return.

It’s feels a little like heartbreak.

But he won’t show them weakness. Not when they’re no longer on his side. He holds it in, squares his shoulders and stamps down hard on his magic where it is soaring high in his chest, bright and wonderful, his control so much better than it once was. He’s a flurry of betrayal, and anger and hurt and abandonment, and his magic wants to strike out in response.

But he doesn’t let it show, can’t. He marches to Peter, the only person looking at least a little annoyed at the treatment Stiles is being given. In fact he looks quite murderous and Stiles is silently thankful. Thankful that he has someone. He doesn’t even mind that it’s Peter of all people, hell Stiles secretly likes the man.

It helps that he finds Peter almost completely justified for what he did. Sometimes - sometimes you run out of options. Sometimes things are no longer black and white, and the world often exists in brilliant shades of grey. He can, he can understand where the man came from, to have his entire family ripped away from him so violently. If someone killed his father he would burn the world down in his fury.

So he walks towards the man, as calmly as he can even with his blood boiling and his magic raging, and hands the man the thick folder he brought with him.

“This is the Alpha Pack. Who they are, what they do, how they fight and what they want from us. It’s everything on them.” Stiles says, voice low and weak but Peter still hears. Sure the rest of the pack do too, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“You are quite the wonder, little spark.” Peter says and maybe Stiles shouldn’t be as flattered as he is by the compliment, but a flush settles across his cheeks. He knows Peter doesn’t waste words or throw around empty compliments, knows that means the man's words are genuine. He doesn’t even question how the man may know about his magic. For all Stiles could know, the man could have smelled it.

“Is your father going to be home this evening?”

“Uh no?” Stiles says, voice tilting at the end in question.

“You shouldn’t be alone with your grief, especially after what happened with them.” Peter’s voice is low, giving Stiles the illusion of privacy even though he knows it’s false. Stiles does however snort when Peter spits out the last word like it tastes bad.

“I’ll be okay.” Stiles says with a small smile, having to bite his lip to stop himself from beaming. He frankly has no idea how Peter knows what today is, but it means more than he can express though he tries anyway.

“Thank you.” And maybe Peter understands what he means, because the man offers him a small smile and a nod, looking down to the folder in his hands and already beginning to look through it.

Then, like everyone seems to want, he leaves.

He doesn’t do more than take shallow breathes until after he’s driven away. He’s still too raw, his emotions running their course. Thunder rumbles overhead, lighting flashing and striking beside his jeep, bright white and he slams his brakes, skidding to a stop. He breathes deep, watching in fascination as lightning strikes again, his headlights shining bright onto the now burned patch of grass in front of him.

And then, and then Stiles screams. He lets out his fury, his hurt. He yells until his throat his raw, chest heaving with the air he's pulling in. Thunder rumbles once again, louder and longer than he’s ever heard before. The rain slows, slowly tapering until it's nothing more than a light shower, the gently tap tap helping to calm his heartbeat.

He breathes deep again, looking at his phone when it pings. He opens it to a text from Peter, and the words make his gut twist in pleasure, the praise of the words making him feel high. ‘You are miraculous.’ stares back at him, and it feels warm, the same way his father's arms do when he’s held close, how his mother's praise used to feel. He smiles, infinitely thankful that he seems to have this man on his side.

Stiles turns his keys, fingers still shaking around his steering wheel as the familiar drain that comes with using magic slowly begins to settle. He’s thankful the loft is close, still having to focus hard on the drive home. When he does arrive, he collapses onto his bed near immediately, thankful his father appears to home and asleep - the bottle of Whisky still more than half full where it had sat in the kitchen.