Hello love!! 💚💚💚

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Stiles had expected the awkward silence. That was what always happened when he pitched a plan. He’d pace, gesture with his hands like he was directing an invisible orchestra, ramble until his words tripped over themselves, and watch Derek’s jaw tighten, Cora’s brow crease, and the rest of the pack look vaguely overwhelmed. That was the rhythm of things: Stiles flailing until he got to the point, and everyone else taking a minute (or five) to catch up.

So when Peter, of all people, leaned back against the wall with an infuriatingly pleased smile and said, “Oh. I see exactly what you’re doing. You’re not trying to block him in - you’re trying to herd him toward the south ridge. Clever.”

Stiles froze mid gesture, his hand still pointing at the whiteboard like a malfunctioning weather reporter. “Wait. Wait wait wait. You…you get it? Like actually get it? You’re not just screwing with me for the sake of… whatever twisted entertainment you thrive on?”

Peter’s grin sharpened. “Oh, I’m always screwing with you, but in this case? No. Your plan makes sense. You’re utilizing his instincts against him. The south ridge is a funnel. He won’t even realize he’s boxed in until he’s choking on wolfsbane mist.” He tapped his temple. “Smart boy.”

Stiles blinked. Then blinked again. He half expected Derek to cut in with some disapproving grunt, or Cora to scoff, but the room had gone quiet. Everyone was just… watching.

“Holy crap,” Stiles muttered, pointing at Peter like he was some alien in disguise. “You got that before anyone else? Not Derek, not Lydia but you? Peter Hale? Evil crypt uncle extraordinaire?”

Peter’s smile widened, smug and satisfied. “What can I say? Genius recognizes genius.”

After that, it kept happening. Stiles would make some dry, sarcastic comment that usually flew over everyone’s head, Peter would chuckle before Stiles even finished the punchline. He’d mutter a reference under his breath and Peter would hum in agreement. And during planning? It was like Peter’s brain was tuned to the same oddball frequency as his.

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Sorry this took so long. Hope you enjoy it babe! 💚💚💚 (Also, hope you’re doing better!)

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Stiles didn’t expect the ER trip to turn into this much of a thing.

He sat on the paper covered exam bed, hunched over slightly, clutching his side while trying not to make the pain worse. It was just a bruised muscle. Maybe a minor fracture. Something dumb. He had been hauling a box of books up three flights of stairs because his new apartment had no elevator and his pride had refused help from the neighbor who looked like she could deadlift him and the box in one arm. So now here he was, wincing under the fluorescent lights, gritting his teeth every time he shifted wrong, and getting lectured by a nurse about lifting with his knees.

He wasn’t worried, not really. The scans were clear, nothing was broken broken, and he’d be sent home with painkillers and a list of Things Not To Do. Like lifting boxes. Or climbing stairs. Or being a dumbass, which should absolutely be written in all caps.

The problem was, of course, the damn emergency contact form.

He hadn’t thought much about it when he filled out the college paperwork months ago. But now that he was alone in a hospital in a city two hours from Beacon Hills and couldn’t drive himself home, someone needed to pick him up.

The nurse looked apologetic but firm. “You’ll need someone to sign you out and make sure you get home safe. Just standard protocol.”

Right. Standard protocol. Cool. Normal. Fine.

Except… he didn’t trust most people. And his dad was on a fishing trip, finally taking that long-overdue break Stiles had forced him to take after the whole crazy summer of supernatural drama.

Scott? Nope. He hadn’t talked to him much since graduation. Lydia was in MIT. Malia was doing weird wilderness survival stuff in the Pacific Northwest. Stiles wasn’t close to anyone at school yet.

So… emergency contacts.

He’d written down two names on the form:

Peter Hale

Derek Hale

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