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Stiles hasn't shut down in years. Most of the time his anxiety and sensory overload and any number of other bad feelings result in a panic attack or meltdown. He used to have shutdowns for awhile after his mom died. The realization that she was gone would hit him at unexpected times- at lunch when he had to buy food from the school cafeteria because his dad didn't have time to pack Stiles lunches the way his mom used to. Waking up at noon on Saturdays when he was used to being woken up early to make breakfast and watch cartoons with his mom. Not only was his mom gone but everything was different without her, and Stiles didn't like different. Stiles didn't like change. So he would shut down. Talking was either hard or impossible during a shutdown so he wouldn't even try, his silence a stark contrast to his usual talkativeness. He'd zone out most of the time, hands flapping at his sides or holding a pencil to his mouth and chewing on it absently, rarely responding when someone tried to talk to him. It was like he retreated to this silent place inside himself, couldn't get out if he wanted to. Usually he didn't want to. It was embarrassing to shut down and made his life harder, but during shutdowns he felt safe. The shutdowns stopped about a year after his mom died, though. It's been so long that Stiles has come to the conclusion that he's not really a shutdown kind of guy. Meltdowns are more his style anyways.
Of course, when he does shut down for the first time in ten years, he does it in front of Peter Hale, of all people. Lydia would have been okay to be around, Derek or Scott would have been ideal if he had to choose someone to witness this. Instead he ends up stuck with Peter.
They'd been taking care of Beacon Hills' most recent supernatural problem- fairies, tiny violent fairies that mostly swarmed around the Nemeton but had started attacking nearby hikers in the forest. The fairies also seemed to be terrorizing all of the local animals, which Stiles just didn't get. Weren't fairies supposed to be one with nature and friends with animals? What kind of fucking fairies terrorized innocent raccoons and squirrels and the occasional deer?
The pack had all gone to the Nemeton to open a portal that would bring the fairies back to whatever awful fairy hell they'd come from. There had been lots of high pitched, angry fairy screams, a few explosions to push them in the direction of the portal, and then it was done. It was surprisingly easy, actually. But Stiles had been the one to open the portal, and all the noise and chaos typical of a supernatural kerfuffle had been overwhelming, so he was left feeling drained once it was all over. The rest of the pack had seemed happy, they were all going to Scott's house and would probably order a ridiculous amount of pizzas which they would then demolish. Stiles used to think he ate a lot before Scott became a werewolf. Werewolves ate a lot.
"You coming, bro?" Scott had looked concerned when all Stiles could do was shake his head in response. Talking was starting to get hard, but he still managed to sputter something about going home to rest. He couldn’t be around the rest of the pack right now and he wasn’t about to ruin Scott’s night over this. He could feel it happening, like he was slowly starting to retreat inside himself, one little step at a time. Stiles was so exhausted and shaken by the loud chaos of the fairy fight, it would be easy to slip into a shutdown. It should be easy. Stiles wasn't sure if it would be different than the shutdowns he'd had as a kid, if he needed to worry about anything in particular but he was definitely worrying in general. He felt...off. He didn't know what to do. So when the rest of the pack drove off to Scott's place, Stiles climbed into his jeep and drove to Derek's. Derek could help. Derek understood what it was like, the sensory issues, communication and empathy issues, all the little things that built up over time until they turned into one massive, unmanageable thing and caused a shutdown. He'd be able to help Stiles through this, would understand him even if he couldn't talk.
When he gets to Derek's loft, Stiles has a feeling he's completely shut down. Just the thought of trying to force words from his mouth hurts and causes panic, and his mind is silent for once, the exact opposite of how it usually is. There were usually a dozen different thoughts racing through Stiles' brain at once, just bouncing around in there, and now it’s empty. It’s kind of nice but mostly terrifying.
Stiles knocks on the door to Derek's loft and immediately moves to open it and let himself in, but someone beats him to it. The door is pulled out of his grasp and opened by Peter Hale. "Not Derek." Stiles finds he still has a few words left in him. He frowns at Peter, rocking back and forth on his feet but keeping otherwise still as he waits to be let in, or better, for Derek to arrive.
"How very observant of you. Derek isn't here right now so I’m in charge of his loft. I think he actually made me stay because his pet goldfish has separation anxiety and he can’t bear to leave it alone for a day."
Stiles blinks. Opens his mouth to respond to what Peter has just said. What had Peter just said? Something stupid, probably. He should be replying with a witty comeback to whatever the wolf had said, he should be doing that right now. Instead he blinks again and closes his mouth. Peter looks curious now, maybe even concerned, as he eyes Stiles and tries to smell any possible injuries or illnesses the teenager might have. Once he's apparently decided that Stiles is physically fine, he opens the door further to let him inside.
He can't sarcastically thank Peter for finally letting him in, can't even ask when Derek will be back. Stiles heads straight for the sofa once he’s inside, taking the blanket that hangs over the back of the couch and cocooning himself in it before curling up in the fetal position. A slow sigh escapes him and he stares blankly ahead at the wall. Maybe he'd be fine without Derek's help. He almost feels fine now. The only real problem he can think of is that he desperately needs to stim, needs to feel fingers running through his hair or to rock back and forth in his blanket cocoon or something. Anything that would soothe him because while his mind is quiet at the moment, it isn't exactly peaceful or calm. He still feels...restless? Fidgety? But also trapped so deep inside himself that he can't move much, definitely can't stim.
Peter is standing in front of him. Stiles realizes he has another problem to deal with after all. Especially since Peter looks both parts annoyed and confused, like he's been talking to Stiles and waiting for a reply for awhile. He could reply, definitely.
"Hmm?" He'd meant to say "what," but it’s close enough.
Peter rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. "I asked if you were okay and why you were here. I'm starting to think I shouldn't expect a coherent answer though. Is this like when Derek gets upset about something and then broods for days and won't talk to me at all?" The werewolf bends down so he can take a closer look at Stiles in his blanket cocoon, head tilted to the side.
Stiles would snort at Peter's horrible description of Derek's shutdowns if making any kind of noise was a thing he thought he could do. Instead he just shrugs, then shakes his head, pauses a moment and decides on a nod after all. He burrows further back into his cocoon, rubs his face against the soft blanket.
Peter is standing up again. "Okay. Well. I'd say let me know if you need anything, but you aren't saying much at all so that won't work. Do you know Morse code? We could use that to communicate. Stay here, I'll be right back." Stiles watches him leave but doesn't really remember most of what Peter had just said. Whatever. He rolls over so he's face down on the couch, squished into the corner and wrapped tight in his cocoon, which he still can't stop rubbing his face against.
He hears Peter reenter but it takes a minute for Stiles to react. He rolls over again so he can face the older man, but keeps nuzzling the side of his face against the blanket wrapped around him. He's developed a sort of rhythm with the whole face rubbing thing now, and it would take too much effort to stop even if he wanted to.
"I brought tea if you'd like some. It's chamomile." Peter places a mug on the coffee table in front of Stiles, way too far for him to reach over and pick up right now. "I also brought you this." He holds up another blanket that Stiles recognizes as Derek's weighted blanket, and Stiles would grab it from Peter at werewolf speed if he could. He wants the pressure the weighted blanket will put on his entire body right now. Wants the sense of security and groundedness it will bring. Peter must know, must see something on his face, because soon he's stepping forward and carefully laying the blanket over Stiles. He wants to thank Peter but can't. So he makes eye contact with him for a minute, then pats the spot beside him on the couch in a clear invitation. Peter raises his eyebrows and he's smirking a little but he sits. With Stiles still curled up on his side next to him, the teenager's head is resting right beside Peter's leg. If he moved just an inch his head would be resting on Peter's lap. So he does.
There's a moment where Peter tenses at having Stiles' head on his lap. Then he says "Let me know if you don't want me touching you." And blunt fingernails are dragging gently over Stiles' scalp as Peter starts to pet his hair, and there's no way Stiles is going to complain when it feels perfect. Later he might obsess over how weird this is, Peter Hale petting his hair, they’re basically cuddling for god’s sake. Right now his brain is blissfully quiet for once and he’s not overanalyzing the situation, or analyzing anything at all, for that matter.
He’s not sure how long they sit like that, Stiles’ head in Peter’s lap and his body covered by the weighted blanket. All Stiles knows is that at some point he starts to slowly enter reality again, starting when he begins squirming restlessly in his blanket cocoon. He looks up from the strong thigh his head is resting on (and where did that thought come from? He needs to stop thinking about the strength of Peter’s thighs right now.) Peter is staring down at him, still stroking his hair, and Stiles is surprised enough by their shared eye contact in this strangely intimate moment that he flails, pushing Derek’s blanket to the ground.
It’s another minute or two before he feels like he can form coherent sentences, at which point he coughs to clear the suddenly awkward silence and says, “Uh, thanks. For...the blanket and the tea and the whole, you know.” Stiles gestures vaguely between them, unwilling to say “thanks for cuddling me and petting my hair while I was basically catatonic.” When he looks at Peter again, the wolf is smirking but the expression on his face is surprisingly gentle.
“My pleasure, Stiles. Really. Any time you want to rest your head in my lap, just call me.” He leers, and now the gentle look is gone and the creepy psychowolf is back. Stiles rolls his eyes.
“So you’re sexually harassing teenage boys now?” The teenager reaches for the mug of tea Peter had brought him who knows how long ago and drinks it even though it’s cold by now. Peter looks at least mildly insulted by his comment and for a moment Stiles thinks he’s won this round. Then-
“No, just one special teenage boy. And I would never sexually harass you, I’m wooing you.” He actually bats his eyelashes at Stiles, apparently trying to look innocent and charming. Stiles almost chokes on his tea, can’t quite meet his eyes when he says “Oh, did wooing someone involve acting like someone’s creepy pedophile uncle back in your day?”
It’s a weak comeback, but to be fair he’s still recovering from shutting down, and he’s so tired he feels like he’s going to fall asleep right there on Derek’s couch. Peter seems to notice this, because he takes the now empty mug of tea from Stiles’ hands, places it back on the coffee table and stands up.
“Your words wound me, Stiles. Truly. You should let me drive you home now.”
The teenager unravels the blanket wrapped around him and shakes his head as he stands up, folding both of the blankets he’d used and leaving them on the edge of Derek’s couch.
“I drove my jeep here, I can drive it home.” A loud yawn escapes him right after he says it, and Stiles glares in response to Peter’s smug ‘I told you so’ look. “Fine, be my chauffeur for the night, but we’re taking my car and then you’ll have to walk yourself home.” He heads out to his car with Peter following close behind.
The drive to his house is quiet, but for some reason it’s not an uncomfortable silence. Stiles spends most of the ride staring openly at Peter when the wolf is too busy focusing on the road to pay attention to him. Whenever he does glance in Stiles’ direction, he averts his gaze quickly and settles for looking at the older man from the corners of his eyes. He absolutely doesn’t admire Peter’s strong jawline or his muscular neck or his disturbingly pretty eyes.
When they pull into Stiles’ driveway, Peter surprises him for the hundredth time that night by leaning over to open the door of the jeep for him and smiling. “Goodnight.”
That’s it? Goodnight? No snarky comments or creepy sexual innuendos? Stiles still gets surprised sometimes when Peter is actually nice to him, when he’s polite and friendly.
“Okay, yeah. Bye. Thanks, I guess, for the ride home and again for all the other stuff, especially bringing out Derek’s blanket, I don’t have my own weighted blanket and it’s pretty awesome, man. Super helpful with all the sensory stuff and shutdowns, but also super expensive, so. Uh, I’m just gonna go now. Into my house. Thanks.” He waves and stumbles out of the jeep, only looking back once on his way inside. Peter is already gone.
A week later, a package addressed to Stiles shows up at his house on the same day he receives a text from an unknown number. The text reads, “Let me know what you think of your new blanket -Peter." The package contains a brand new weighted blanket similar to the one Derek has.