Chapter Text
The world was on fire, everything was gone. Peter had promised he wouldn't be alone, but here he sat waiting for or rather praying for death to claim him as it had every one of the people he loved.
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The world found out about the supernatural and it became an even more devastating Salem witch trials. It was worldwide news spreading fear in a world that had weapons of mass destruction.
The sheriff was the first of the casualties, it was insane how fast people turned on him at the mere suggestion that he knew of the supes in town, sympathized with them, and potentially was one of them. Stiles hadn't been there, of course, He had been returning from college in a rush as soon as he heard that there was a national state of emergency in place, whispers suggested that it was because the existence of a supernatural population was exposed.
The last he heard from his father was a phone call where his father shared news of a town meeting being called. He told Stiles of the plans the mayor had to out every person who had the slightest possibility of being a supe. His father told him of his plans to stop the mayor to protect his friends, to protect the pack. He and his father shared their goodbyes saying they loved each other and that they would see each other soon. That wasn't the case. When the sheriff publicly called the morality and legality of the mayor's plan into question, accusing the mayor of species profiling at best and Nazi-like behavior at worst, the mayor simply suggested that perhaps the sheriff was a sympathizer or maybe even a supernatural creature himself. It didn't take long after that for fear to take hold of the crowd and the crowd to then take hold of the sheriff. Stiles had been told one of the sheriff's own men had ended his life with a shot through the forehead, a mercy, and an escape from what the crowd had already done.
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As soon as he got to the town border he felt called to the preserve and more specifically to the nemeton, and he hadn't been able to leave since. The area around the nemeton seemed to be a safe space for the wolves and other supes of Beacon Hills alongside the human sympathizers.” The nemeton was trying to protect them for once. It called out to the pack and offered its surrounding land as a safe haven; magically obfuscating its view from any prying eyes. They were safe within its boundaries. But that didn't mean they were safe when they had to leave for supplies. Every few days a group would leave in hopes of collecting stragglers who needed safety along with supplies to keep them going, and every time they returned fewer and fewer members came back. And, while Stiles fought to be on these teams, he was always turned down for one reason or another.
“You're more vulnerable. I need you safe.” Scott told him.
“You wouldn't want to see the remains of your house in the sheriff's station, really the whole town is a mess.” Derek would say, pleading with him to stay while the others put themselves in danger.
“Your spark is what's keeping this part of the preserve safe for all of us,” Deaton said.
That was the comment that made him stop fighting. At least for a while.
Eventually, they were the only two remaining in the sanctuary. All the others had failed to return at one time or another. And now Peter was trying to go off on his own to collect supplies, insisting Stiles stay even when there was only them left.
"There's no one else here Peter!" Stiles cried out grabbing at Peter's shoulders trying to shake him. "There's no reason for me to stay and keep this place safe! Everyone else is gone and you want me to stay here, alone!" He was getting choked up now fighting back tears. “When you might not even make it back."
When Peter looked at Stiles, Stiles first thought the intense look in Peter's eyes was pity. But as Peter walked closer Stiles realized that no it wasn't pity. It was sympathy, it was understanding, empathy, things that so many people had accused Peter Hale of not being able to feel. And yet here Stiles was being wrapped up in the fiercest of hugs by the very same man.
"The town is all but empty Stiles," Peter whispered.
"All the more reason for me to go too!" Stiles insisted, shaking Peter off to gather his meager belongings. “Plus! We’ll be safer together anyway.” He faltered in his movements, shoulders visibly quaking for a second before they tensed back up. “Please Peter, I don't want to be left again.”
“But you’ll be safe–”
“I don't want to be SAFE," he snarled, "not knowing what happened to you like I did with the others” he continued, getting progressively more worked up. “Can you honestly say if you were in my position you would--"
"Their bodies are on display Stiles! Like fucking Roman candles, their bodies surround the preserve and continue up the road into town like some fucking threat! Your father!” He spat out, stalking forward with every name. “Scott, his mom, Lydia, Liam!" Peter's voice broke. "Derek and Malia,” he practically whispered their names, staring directly at Stiles, tears in both their eyes, “and so many others who weren’t even connected."
"I would spare you the visceral proof of how fucked up humanity is. Please, Stiles. PLEASE stay here where it's safe. The last I heard on the news there were threats of bombings." Peter mustered a smirk at this point. "And don’t insult me by thinking I’ve lived this long only to be taken out by something as plebian as a bomb.” He raised a brow at me challenging me to disagree, before getting serious again, putting his hands on my shoulders, and drawing me into a hug. “We will need more supplies to make it through the aftermath, and I will need a safe place to come back to. And I WILL be coming back Stiles. I promise you will not be left alone." He pulled back from Stiles slightly, not releasing him, just pulling back enough for their eyes to meet and to see Stiles' reluctant agreement to stay behind.
With that, Peter patted Stiles on the shoulders with a nod before running off towards the town.
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It had maybe been an hour since Peter left, and Stiles had finally stopped pacing the clearing, thinking of every terrible scenario he could, and he had a great imagination, so there were a lot. He was now perched on the nemeton staring in the direction Peter had left, repeating variations of, He’ll be fine, he’ll be back any second. As though by repeating it he could will it to come true.
Then the first bomb fell. The ground rumbled all around him and large explosions could be heard one after another. Explosions led to fires that spread until the whole preserve was ablaze. All except for a space of maybe 50 ft around the nemeton.
Stiles, seeing that the fire stopped in a perfect circle around the damn tree screamed in anguish, "LIAR!”
There was no way Peter could live through this let alone come back.
He made me stay here just like all the others, and now he’s gone too.
He looked up to the sky thinking of Peter and the pack, and the damn magical tree stump on which his ass was presently planted. He thought of all that was lost muttering a harsh “Fuck!” and curled up on the nemeton.
He lay there for a while before his thoughts of pain and anguish turned morbid.
“I’m gonna die here” he whispered, “Maybe the fire will superheat the air in the clearing and cook me alive!” This time directing his words to the nemeton, “ Oooo, or maybe it will be the smoke that gets me. Filling the air and my lungs until I suffocate.” he burst into hysterical giggles.
"Yeah right." He scoffed, standing back up. He looked at the fire with anger, determination, and a distinct lack of hope, and started forward. Stepping one foot past the protective line, expecting to feel the hot lick of the flames. Instead, he was greeted with a guttural growl and a large black mass of fur with glowing blue eyes flying directly into his chest tackling him to the ground safely within the confines of the clearing.
"Peter!" Stiles gaped at the wolf...man as he transformed back into his human form.
“I told you I’d come back.” Peter choked out, wincing in pain as he pulled himself off of Stiles heading straight for the nemeton. Stiles immediately leapt up to help. Not knowing where was safe to touch seeing how badly burnt Peter was. After some finagling, Stiles was able to take some of Peter’s weight and together they stumbled towards the nemeton. Where Stiles gently helped Peter sit.
Once seated, Peter Immediately pulled a small bag of something out of his pocket and sprinkled it on top of the tree stump. He then used the ash that covered his body to smudge symbols in a circle around the nemeton, never stopping even as Stiles questioned what he was doing and how he could help.
Eventually, he finished his task and looked up to Stiles beckoning him forward. Once he was within reach, he grabbed Stiles and hugged him, pulled him onto the stump carefully so as not to smudge any of the symbols. When he pulled back, Stiles opened his mouth to ask what he was doing but Peter cut him off with the shake of his head.
Peter opened his mouth to say something before coughing hard for a few moments. Finally, he was able to choke out a pained whisper, "I'm sorry Stiles, but you won't be alone."
Before Stiles could reply Peter hugged him once more before extending his claws and drawing them deep and viciously across his own throat bleeding out onto the nemeton. A final blood sacrifice for the tree but this time offered freely to save the life of a boy who ran with wolves never thinking twice for his own safety. A sacrifice to send him to a place where Peter prayed the supernatural or enhanced, were well known and often viewed as heroes. Peter sacrificed himself at that moment on the very small chance that the stories he had been told as a child, and heard whispered throughout his life, were true. Stories of different universes existing and the nemetons being possible gateways between these worlds. Peter Hale who had four times now been burned, had died and come back alive through sheer force of will, sacrificed himself to a tree in the hopes that it would protect his last remaining family member. As he lay dying, Peter saw the symbols shine brightly and he smiled before he closed his eyes one last time.
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Stiles stared unblinkingly at Peter who was smiling up at him even now that his eyes had finally closed. He stared until the glowing of the symbols created a barrier of pure light that shone so bright, he thought he might be blinded. The bright light startled him out of his shock and he screamed. He screamed with primal anguish. He screamed and screamed until the light was gone and with it the forest that had been around him as well. In its place was a dark night and a city skyline, gravel under his feet. Then under his knees, as he collapsed to the ground crying out into the night. He cried for what felt like hours until his voice gave out and he fully collapsed onto the rooftop. Exhaustion and shock overwhelming him. As he started losing consciousness, he heard three thumps of something solid meeting the ground around him. He startled slightly and tried to blink back the fuzziness of his vision. Well enough to see three figures approach one in a black cape and a cowl, one dressed in red and black also masked and a third who looked, or rather felt, very familiar. The last thing he heard was a deep rumble of a man's voice and a very familiar and long-missed voice gasp out.
"Stiles!?"
His eyes closed and he floated into oblivion with his final thought being of Peter who kept his promise.
Stiles would not be alone.