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The first time Peter Hale met Stiles Stilinski he was 19, home from law school for the Christmas break and standing in the middle of the candy isle of their local Target, contemplating if a bar of Marabou chocolate or a box of gingerbread cookies would satisfy the midnight munchies he always got while studying all night, since his professors were monsters who didn’t care about Christmas. Alright, his family didn’t celebrate Christmas either, but they celebrated the mid-winter-night, which was just as festive but without the constant ‘the birth of our lord and savior’ bullshit.
He eventually sighed and grabbed the chocolate bar, because while he craved some gingerbread, he backpacked through middle Europe last winter break and ate real gingerbread. Ever since he couldn’t stand the too sweet, too firm crap they offered here, which was basically an insult to all of Europe. And don’t even get him started on this whole bread thing…
It was official, he’d spend the next Christmas in Europe again.
With another deep sigh, he turned around and was read to march towards the frozen isle to grab the ice cream his mother had forgotten to buy because she had been too frazzled after battling a whole bunch of desperate housewives to get the last turkey. And since he had decided to make a quick trip to satisfy his cravings, he had offered to pick up some ice cream as well.
But before he could take a step, the sweet scent of warm cinnamon, fresh vanilla, rich chocolate, homemade cookies and something slightly spicy made him freeze. It was the single most perfect thing he had ever smelled, and he wanted to burry his nose in whatever it was and never let it go. Home, it smelled like home.
He scented the air, trying to get another whiff of it, when something tugged at his jeans. It was a small boy with huge amber that stared up at him, sparkling in the luminescent light of the store’s lamps.
Peter was almost reeled back when a fresh wave of the scent hit him. It was the boy.
“Hello.” The child smiled up at him and wrapped his small arms around Peter’s leg. “I’m Stiles.” He continued. “You’re really tall. Pick me up, please.”
When Peter didn’t say anything, still too overwhelmed by the sudden warmth that spread through his stomach, the boy continued.
“Can you help me reach?” He pointed at the shelves and Peter helplessly looked around for the boy’s parents, but there was nobody. Good, perhaps he was a stray and Peter could just take him home. But should it turn out that the boy did have parents, Peter didn’t really want to have kidnapping marked in his crime record.
But since he was unable to tell the boy no, he scooped the child up and placed him on his hip, like he had done a thousand times with his nieces and nephews. The boy – Stiles- squealed in delight and wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck and stared at the candy isle in wonder, like this new perspective had revealed candy he had never seen before and only dreamed of so far.
“Are you even allowed to have candy?” He asked the little boy with a frown.
“Yes, Daddy said I can pick one.” Stiles stared at the rows of candy with the most serious expression Peter had ever seen on a four-year-old. After a few seconds of careful contemplation, he nodded to himself and beamed at Peter. “That one!” He pointed at a bar of Hershey’s Cookies and Cream and Peter grimaced.
“That’ll make your teeth rot.” He told the little boy, who frowned at Peter for a second, before he eyed the golden wrapper of the chocolate he was holding.
“I want that one then.” He decided with a firm nod and then added a soft ‘please’.
Over the past few years Peter had become resistant to the whole puppy eye thing. To be honest, it had only been Derek who had ever really been able to pull them off. Laura had simply looked like a fish who’s eyes were in danger of popping out at any second and once Cora was old enough to try to convince Peter by blinking up at him with wide, owlish eyes, Peter had already enough experience with Derek so that it didn’t work on him anymore.
But even Derek’s puppy eyes were nothing compared to this boy’s expression. Peter was weak, so goddamn weak. So, he grabbed another chocolate bar and handed it to the boy, who crowed in delight.
“It’s so pretty.” He petted the golden wrapping carefully. “And it’s all mine.”
Before Peter could say anything, like asking if he should help the boy find his parents, a slightly frazzled looking man in a deputy uniform rounded the corner and sagged with relief.
“Stiles!” He called out, relief coloring his voice. “I looked everywhere for you.”
Stiles began to wiggle in Peter’s arms and before he could drop to the floor, Peter carefully put him down again. Immediately, the child raced towards the man and squealed in delight.
“Daddy, daddy, look what I got.” He held the bar of chocolate towards his father like it was a precious treasure instead of a 4$ bar of chocolate. “Isn’t it pretty, daddy? It was all the way up high. But I still reached it.” He puffed out his chest with pride.
“Stiles.” The man sighed and kneeled down before the boy. “You can’t run away like that. You scared me, kiddo.”
“But you said I can pick out one candy.” Stiles argued with a serious nod. “You didn’t cla-ri-fy, daddy.”
The deputy huffed and ruffled his son’s hair. “What am I going to do with you?” He asked with an exasperated chuckle, before he looked at the chocolate in his son’s hands. “Where did you find this anyways?”
“All the way up there!” Stiles pointed at the shelf. “He helped me reach.”
The man’s eyes met with Peter’s, who wasn’t really sure if he was in trouble or not. Werewolf parents were very possessive of their children and would bite off your face for even sniffing their offspring, Peter didn’t know if humans were similar.
But instead of attacking Peter, the man picked up his son and stepped towards him.
“John Stilinski, thank you for helping my son out. You’re one of the Hale boys, aren’t you?” He held out his hand towards Peter, who squeezed it, still a bit unsure if he should prepare for a fight.
“Yes, Sir. Peter Hale.” Peter nodded and shuffled awkwardly. If his mother found out that he had gotten into a physical fight in a grocery store, she’d go batshit crazy. She was already stressed enough and Peter really didn’t want to be the one relative to get arrested over the holidays. Usually it was Uncle Tommy, who got drunk on too much wolfsbane laced eggnog and decided that they needed to properly mark their territory by pissing against as many houses as he possibly could. Which was quite a lot. The man had a bladder the size of a watermelon.
“I hope Stiles didn’t give you too trouble.” The deputy smiled, before he looked at his son. “Did you say thank you, Stiles?” He asked, and the boy ducked his head slightly. Then he turned towards Peter and wiggled in his father’s arms, who expertly managed not to drop Stiles, until he was close enough to grab Peter by the burgundy sweater his grandmother had knitted for him and pull his towards him so he could smack a wet kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you, Peter.” The boy said and turned towards his dad again. “Yes, I did, daddy.”
John chuckled a quietly, before he turned his attention to Peter again. “Well Peter, thank you again. Greet your parents for me, alright?”
“Will do, Sir.” Peter mumbled, still stunned. The scent of the boy was still clouding his mind and dazed him a little. The deputy said something else and clapped Peter on the shoulder, before leaving with his son still in his arms. Stiles waved at Peter enthusiastically, until they rounded the corner and disappeared out of his sigh.
Peter only realized he was waving back even after they were already gone and an old lady frowned at him, like he had lost his mind. And perhaps he had.
It was only when he got home, head still spinning, that he had realized, that he had forgotten the ice cream. But he couldn’t bother to care, still too overwhelmed from the scent that clung to his shirt and his skin.
Mate. His wolf whispered quietly and for the first time Peter was glad that he had let himself be convinced to spend this Christmas in Beacon Hills and endure his large family. This was the best Christmas present he had ever gotten. Sure, he’d have to wait for a long time, until he could become part of his mate’s life, but Peter had always been a patient man and really, what was another decade or two? And a 13-year age difference had very little meaning to a werewolf, especially to one who was spending all the free time he had studying every mythology book he could get his hands on.
Slowing down his aging process would be child’s play and Peter had always liked the idea of immortality…
-
The second time Peter Hale met Stiles Stilinski, was 25. His heart was heavy with pain and his wolf howling with rage. He wanted to claw at the vomit green walls of the hospital hallway and burn the world down.
He could hear a few family members sobbing quietly, some were whispering comforting words to their children, which were just as useless and shallow as they sounded. His father was on the phone, trying not to yell at the council, who were trying their best to prevent the Alpha from going after the rouge hunter on his own.
It was a tense situation. The hunter council was cooperating and willing to hand their former member over, but the fact that they had known about a rogue running around without informing the wolves could result in the end of their truce and that would lead to a whole lot of other problems. At this point Peter wouldn’t have minded a war; he would’ve welcomed any chance to bury his claws in the rotten flesh of a hunter, no matter what age, gender or background. He’d kill them all, so his species could finally live in peace.
It had been years since a hunter last got involved with the killing of a wolf, mostly because werewolves handled their rogues on their own and the government had forbidden humans who didn’t belong to packs to get involved in wolf business.
And now a rogue hunter had killed the son of one of the most powerful alphas on the west coast. The media was already going batshit crazy and politicians didn’t hesitate to ally themselves with the werewolves, but the damage was already done.
Peter didn’t care about all of that. He only cared about the loss in his heart. The pain of the ripped pack bond was like a physical wound and he felt as if he was bleeding to death on the insides. It wasn’t only his pain he felt, through the connection of his pack he could feel the pain of his family as well, almost like an echo. This was a part he hated about being in a pack.
He clawed at his hair, tried not to bury his fists in the silken strands and simply rip, so he could feel something – anything- besides the grief of his relatives and his own. His head was spinning from the many noises, the tightness and worse, the smells. Everything smelled like death, disease and bleach. His stomach turned, and he worried he’d throw up, when a whiff of vanilla calmed his mind in an instant.
It had been years since he last reveled in this scent and unshed tears burned in his eyes, when he realized, that the second time he got close to his mate would be the day his uncle died. Peter considered running away, but he couldn’t. He needed to see his mate, needed to know that he was alright and taken care of.
So, he turned around and his already heavy stomach dropped even lower.
His mate looked terrible. He was slumped in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs and resembled a puppet someone had thrown away. His hair was shaven close to his head, his cheeks were hollow and there were dark circles underneath his eyes. The once sparkling amber was dull and lifeless, like his happiness had been sucked out of his soul, leaving behind a broken shell. He was too thin, like he hadn’t eaten in weeks and the too large clothes on his body made him look small and lost. His spindly fingers were fiddling with a chocolate bar in his hands, golden wrapping paper sparkling in the cold, white light of the hospital lamps.
For a second Peter feared his mate was ill, but his scent was healthy, except for the overwhelming, bitter layer of grief.
Peter wasn’t the only one who was familiar with grief these days.
His ears picked up the rough voice of Deputy Stilinski. The man sounded tired and resigned. He was talking to a doctor just around the corner, quiet words as to keep them away from Stiles’ ears, but seeing as the boy was as stiff as a board, he was still able to hear every single word.
“I’m really sorry, Mr. Stilinski, but I fear there’s not much we can do anymore. Her brain is… if we had diagnosed it earlier we might’ve given her a few more years.” The doctor mumbled quietly.
“How long?” Stilinski asked, and Stiles’ breath hitched.
“A few weeks, most likely less. The time between her lucid moments is growing rapidly, we don’t know how much longer she’ll be able to recognize you or your son. In a few days you might be strangers to her. Perhaps you should keep your son away-“
“I won’t keep my son from his mother!” Stilinski bellowed loudly, and Stiles flinched.
“Mr. Stilinski, she might wake up tomorrow and not remember him. Do you want your son’s last memory of his mother be one where she doesn’t recognize him anymore and treats him as if he were a stranger?” The doctor’s voice was soft yet firm. “I’ve seen these cases before and know how irrational a patient’s behavior can become once they reach the final stage. They can become lash out and are easily irritated. Some even attack their loved ones, trapped in hallucinations.”
Deputy Stilinski was quiet for a few long moments, then he sighed.
“Perhaps…”
In a flash Stiles was out of the seat he looked far too small in and had rounded the corner.
“No!” His voice was high pitched and broken. “You won’t keep me away from her!”
Peter could smell the salty tears that were most likely running down the boy’s cheeks. Or perhaps they were his own, he didn’t know.
“Stiles…” The older Stilinski sounded resigned. “I just want what’s best for you.” His voice was laced with pain.
“I don’t care if she doesn’t remember me. She’s my mom, I won’t leave her alone.” Stiles sobbed and Peter’s already broken heart shattered in his chest. The pain of his pack as well as the pain of his mate overwhelmed him. He couldn’t do anything, couldn’t help anyone.
For the first time in his life he felt completely helpless and utterly useless. So, he fled. Away from the hospital and the pain and his mate’s dying mother as well as his uncle’s dead body. He ran until his shaking legs gave out and his chest was burning from exhaustion rather than heartbreak. But no matter how far he ran, he couldn’t turn off his mind or the pain singing in through the many pack bonds.
-
The third times Peter Hale met Stiles Stilinski, he was 32 and brimming with power. Still adjusting to being an Alpha and almost high with power, he strutted into the Sheriff station to officially change his status. It had only been days since he had killed the rogue Alpha, but the transition hadn’t been as overwhelming as he thought it would be.
Perhaps it was because he had spent years preparing himself for his moment. Perhaps it was because he had never been scared about the power, and instead anticipated it. Whatever it was, his control was impeccable.
He was surprised his family hadn’t called him yet. Sure, he had always been on the outskirts of the pack and kept to himself, but they had still been bound by the pack bonds, no matter how thin, which had now been cut.
He didn’t mind. For the first time in his life he felt truly like himself. There were no foreign emotions messing with his body, just his own happiness and satisfaction. Peter had always known that he would be a lone wolf at heart and now he finally had the proof.
The woman manning the front desk gave him a lewd once over when he smiled at her and even fluttered her eyelashes at him. Peter liked to be charming, it made things significantly easier. And having an in with the sheriff station could always be handy.
But no matter how much he flirted and how many people he wrapped around his finger, he never touched any of them. Sure, Peter was no blushing virgin, but in all the years since he had first met Stiles Stilinski, he had never looked at another person the way he would’ve if he hadn’t been aware that he had a mate. Yes, he had fucked a few people here and there, but it had never been intimate, never been anything more than a quick fuck to satisfy his urges. No foreplay, no afterglow and never at his own place.
He was busy buttering her up, when the door to the Sheriff station opened and two teens bounced inside. One of them had floppy hair and a slightly cooked jaw, making him look like a puppy, while the other one had…
Peter almost hadn’t recognized him.
The last time he had seen Stiles Stilinski, his mate had looked broken and miserable. The teen only a few meters away from him was vibrating with life and almost glowing with happiness. His cheeks weren’t hollow anymore, instead they were flushed with excitement, his eyes were once again sparkling and bright, the dark circles were probably caused by staying up too late to watch TV instead of worrying about his mother’s health and his hair had outgrown again, looking like a birds nest on top of his head.
He was still gangly and awkward, his limbs too big for his body, and held himself a bit ducked, like he was insecure, but Peter supposed that was normal for a human teenager.
Ah yes, and he was still wearing hideous looking plaid shirts.
Peter smiled as the boy and his friend walk past him and into the back of the station. His mate was so busy chattering away about a teacher named Finstock and someone named Greenberg that he didn’t even notice Peter. It was fine with the wolf. His mate was still 17 and Peter was patient; he had waited 13 years already, he could wait a few more. And with his newly acquired alpha power, he was another step closer to… well, he didn’t want to brag too much, but immortality was almost within reach.
His eyes followed his mate and when he spotted a familiar, golden wrapping paper sticking out of the back of the boy’s baggy jeans pockets, he chuckled. Perhaps he should stop by the grocery store on his way back home, he was craving a special brand of chocolate suddenly.
Perhaps next time. He mused, while snatching the form the female deputy had given him. Perhaps next time..
The fourth time Peter Hale met Stiles Stilinski, he was 34 and just opened Sheriff Stilinski’s office door, just to look into a familiar pair of amber eyes.
Mate. His wolf repeated.
Yes, Peter thought, Yes indeed.
A small smile crooked his lips when the boy blinked owlishly at him and his vanilla, cinnamon, chocolate scent turned heady with arousal.
“Thanks Peter, I really appreciate everything you’re doing for the station.” John said behind him, and as much as it pained Peter, he turned away from his mate to smile at his future father-in-law.
“No need to thank me, Sheriff. I’m always happy to help.” Peter answered and glanced at his mate again, almost growling happily when he noticed a soft blush spread across the young man’s cheekbones. He was beautiful with his moles and his upturned nose, but Peter’s favorite thing would always be his mate’s eyes. They were so vibrant that they almost looked like they belonged to a beta.
His eyes lingered on his mate for another second, then he turned to the Sheriff again to shake the man’s hand.
“I’ll see you soon, Sheriff.” He grinned and scraped together all his self-control to just walk past Stiles without pulling the boy against him and claim him as his right there in front of an entire sheriff station full of deputies as well as the boy’s father.
“I told you to call me John!” The Sheriff called after him, and Peter chuckled to himself. At least he was already on the Sheriff’s good side. With a spring in his step and a broad grin on his face he left the station and slipped into his car, heart pounding in his chest.
He opened his glove department and grabbed the opened chocolate bar he kept stashed there. With a chuckled he broke off a piece and popped it in his mouth. As it slowly coated his tongue with it’s rich taste, he stared at the golden wrapping paper.
If he hadn’t craved this specific brand that night, all those years ago, he might’ve never met his mate. Or at least not like this. With a chuckle he tossed the package on the passenger seat, and started his car.
Finally.
-
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Stiles asked amused and playfully nudged Peter’s nose. He left a slight smudge of chocolate on his fiancé’s skin and chuckled to himself. His favorite brand of chocolate had the tendency to melt quickly and whenever he ate a piece, he’d later find a small stain on his T-Shirt. But it was so worth it.
Peter’s eyes flickered from his face to the chocolate bar he was holding, and an amused smile spread across his lips. It was his ‘I know something you don’t, but I’m going to be be a dick about it keep it a secret’ expression.
“Nothing, sweetheart.” The wolf answered softly, before he bent forward and kissed him. It quickly turned into a filthy kiss, when Peter licked into his mouth, like he was chasing after the sweet taste of melted Marabou chocolate.
What a coincidence that they both had the same favorite chocolate brand…
But then Peter’s hand slipped underneath his shirt and Stiles quickly forget all about chocolate and really everything else apart from Peter’s mouth on his skin.