Chapter Text
Chapter One
Watching the last of the stale coffee circle the drain, Peter let out a sigh of relief. Opening night at the gallery is always busy, but tonight was especially exhausting without Chris to act as a buffer between Peter and the crowd. He pulled out his phone and sent ‘be home soon. Need anything?’
Chris: Chicken noodles?
Peter: Sure
He smiled and slipped his phone into his coat pocket. The rain had stopped, but the door handle was still wet when he locked up the gallery. The texture made him uncomfortable so he wiped his hand on his pants. He looked around and realized most of the shops had closed including the deli down the street.
"Shit.”
He pulled his phone back out and googled for open restaurants. The closest deli was 5 blocks away, but not too far out of the way to get home. He checked the menu for chicken noodle soup before he headed out.
~~
Rick’s Deli was brightly lit by a garish mixture of fluorescents and neon. Peter stepped in and almost backed out. The air was full of the smells of spices, meat (cooked and raw), bread, and orange disinfectant. The disinfectant smelled like hospitals and misery. He fought the surge of memories that threatened to bubble to the surface and stepped up to the counter. A heavy-set man in a blue striped shirt and hair net stepped out of the kitchen.
“Whatta’ll ya have bub?”
“2 large chicken noodles and a Rueben, light sauce.”
“Coming right up.” The man tapped the top of the counter and grabbed two styrofoam cups before disappearing to the back.
He assumed Chris would appreciate the extra soup tomorrow, and Peter will appreciate getting his gallery partner back as soon as possible.
The man, Rick himself by his name tag, returned with a large stapled brown bag and said, “That’ll be $16.25”
Peter handed him $20 and said, “keep the change.”
Rick thanked him and said, “Have a good one bub.”
Peter rolled his eyes internally, bub. He threw a little wave as he pushed the door open.
~~
Back on the street, he got his bearings straight before he headed home. He wasn’t familiar with this street, but a grid system isn’t exactly rocket science. He passed some run-down shops, apartment buildings, and a couple of grass lots before he spotted anyone else out so late. A couple of leather-clad women stumbled past him, leered at him, and then let out a fit of drunken giggles. Peter wrinkled his nose. The bar they came out of smelled of alcohol, piss, and desperation, but the alley next to it smelled of blood. Fresh blood and something familiar.
He immediately turned down the alley to follow the smell. Near the end were three men standing over a fourth.
“Come on little whore, I pay, you suck, so get to it.” One of the men grabbed the man on the ground by the hair. He yanked him up and punched him across the face. Peter caught a glimpse of the man’s face. It was hard to tell, but there was something familiar about him. He imagined the man without his beard and could almost see a speckling of moles before his vision went red. Stiles.
~~
It’s been about a decade since Stiles left Beacon Hills. He did well at first. He had an apartment and an internship at the FBI before starting at Quantico in the fall. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before they realized that Stiles was withholding information and even actively helping a suspect. Derek Hale. After that, Stiles himself was on the run. He bounced from city to city and motel to motel, but it was hard to find work and live off the grid at the same time.
He was homeless and starving the first time someone offered him money to fuck him. That was 5 or 6 years ago and life hadn’t gotten much easier. He made just enough money to get by, but most nights he was still sleeping in alleys or under bridges. Sometimes he was lucky and would find a shelter to sleep at for a few weeks, or he would make enough to hole up in a motel for a month or two.
Currently, Stiles was attempting to save what little he had for winter. Which meant that he had spent all of September and into October in an alley outside of a bar. There was a decent amount of bargoers who had become regulars. A few were assholes, but most were just looking to get off and go. A few of the bartenders would occasionally bring him cups of water and the guy at the deli up the street gave him food at the end of his shift.
The night had been bearable up until one of the regular assholes came out drunk and raging with a couple of his friends. Stiles took a drag of his cigarette and braced for an uncomfortable situation.
“I knew I’d find you here! Didn’t I tell you guys!? It’s the alley whore! How much for the three of us little slut?” He stumbled down the back door steps and lit a cigarette. He was too drunk to even inhale his first hit and blew it all out in a plume of white smoke.
Stiles took another hit and inhaled deeply. He held it in his lungs until there was barely any smoke left to exhale. Then he said, “Not interested.” There was no use saving money just to die tonight.
He immediately knew that was the wrong answer. The regular asshole stormed up to him and slammed him against the brick by his throat. His cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth as he got up close to Stiles’ face. The back of Stiles’ head was throbbing and the smoke stung at his nostrils and eyes.
“Listen here you little shit, you’re gonna suck all three of us, and if you’re lucky we won’t beat the ever-loving shit out of you. Do you understand?” He held up a $20 and then tucked it into Stiles’ front pocket. He groped at Stiles’ cock before pressing his entire body up against him. The man took his cigarette back in hand and whispered in Stiles’ ear, “Do. You. Understand?”
Stiles nodded his head until the man chuckled and let him go. Stiles fell to his knees and clutched at his throat while he sputtered and coughed.
“Come on little whore, I pay, you suck, so get to it.” He wrenched Stiles back by the hair and punched him. Stiles felt blood pooling in the corner of his mouth. He turned and spit some of it out on the ground.
He looked up to undo the man’s buckle just as Regular Asshole went flying across the alley. His body slammed into the wall with a sickening thud. The other two men started to run but were caught by the backs of their collars and slammed together. It took a moment for the shock to clear and for Stiles to realize what was happening. A werewolf attack. Stiles fell back on his butt and crawled back toward the crack between the dumpster and a wall. He knew the werewolf would still find him, but he was too terrified to do much else. The crunches and wet squelches slowed into silence until all Stiles could hear was the sound of his own heart. Then the dumpster slowly moved away from the wall and the werewolf crouched down in front of him.
“Stiles?”
~~
Peter didn’t wait for a second longer he crouched down, setting his bag down as he did, and leaped. He took out the asshole in the middle first and then his buddies. They were all still alive, but he wasn’t sure they would survive. He gave the first asshole another kick to the ribs before turning back to Stiles. Peter isn’t sure it would take a wolf's hearing to see that he was hiding behind the dumpster. His heart was pounding and he was hyperventilating.
Peter pulled back the dumpster and squatted down. He extended his hand to Stiles and said his name, but instead of recognizing Peter, Stiles promptly passed out. He hit his head on the dumpster before Peter caught him.
Peter gathered him in his arms and quickly walked out of the alley. He looked around for any witnesses, reached down for his bag of food, and took off for home. He was home in under 15 minutes and Stiles still hadn’t woken up. He threw Stiles over his shoulder to get the door open and took him straight to the couch.
“Chris!! Chris!!” His voice was somewhere near the edge of panic and insanity. Stiles still hadn’t woken up and there was the mild concern of being caught for murder… again. Peter had finally found stability and he had become accustomed to the lull. Now there was blood on his hands again. The smell of it was kicking dust up in parts of him that weren’t fully healed.
“Chris!!!” He bellowed as he rushed to the kitchen to wash his hands. The water got hotter and hotter as he used steel wool to scrub them raw. Chris came down the stairs wrapped in their fluffy down duvet. He took one look at Peter and dropped it to the floor. He crossed the kitchen in three long strides and clutched Peter’s face in his hands.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Concern creased in his eyes as he searched his husband's face. Peter took one of his hands in his own, pressed it back to his face, and gave Chris’ palm an erratic kiss. He held Chris’ hand and pulled him towards the living room.
Chris stood in front of the coffee table and stared down at the man on the couch. “Stiles? You found Stiles?”
“He was being attacked. I might have killed them.”
Chris looked back at his husband in concern and understanding. He turned and hugged Peter. “It’s okay. You did what you had to do. It’s going to be okay.”
Peter wasn’t sure he HAD to beat them within an inch of their lives, but he knows he couldn’t stop himself either. Which was the problem. “He passed out and hit his head. Is… is he okay?”
Chris had pushed the coffee table out of the way and knelt in front of Stiles. “Grab a wet rag and the first aid kit. He’s okay, he going to be okay.”
From the kitchen, Peter could hear Chris gently calling Stiles’ name. He was wringing out the towel when he heard, “Argent?” Peter let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and went back into the living room. Stiles was sitting up now. He looked confused, but alert.
Peter handed the rag and kit to Chris before sitting on the corner of the coffee table.
“Peter? What’s going on? How did I get here?” A look crossed his face like he remembered something. “The werewolf? You… thanks, Peter.”
Peter made a face like a half-smile half-grimace and deflected with, “Right time, right place.”
“Stiles, Peter said you passed out and hit your head, do you have any other injuries?” Chris pressed the wet rag to the wound on Stiles’ forehead. Stiles stiffened at the contact but allowed Chris to keep going.
“Um, I think maybe just the back of my head. I'm fine, really. I appreciate the help. I should, uh, get out of your hair. I'm sorry I worried you. I'm fine.” Stiles tried to stand, but felt dizzy and fell back into the couch.
“Yeah, you’re not going anywhere. For one, you’re in no shape to leave, and two, you’ve been missing for almost a decade, Stiles. We all thought you were dead. Where have you been?” Chris had slipped into his concerned-parent voice which got a wince out of both Stiles and Peter.
Peter placed a hand on Chris’ shoulder and said, “Maybe we don’t need to discuss that tonight, but you ARE staying here. You look hungry. When was the last time you ate?”
Stiles opened his mouth like he was going to protest, but his stomach growled instead. Sheepishly, he responded, “Uh, what day is it?”
Peter and Chris gave each other a look before directing it at Stiles.
“Lucky for you, I bought Chris extra soup from the deli. You can have that, I got a Rueben, or I can make you something. Anything you want, I’ll make it.” Peter stood up and grabbed the deli bag by the front door.
Stiles recognizes the bag and says, “Rick’s! He’s cool, he gives me f… I uh, I eat there all the time. The Rueben’s are pretty good.”
Peter glosses over what Stiles almost said and hands him the sandwich from the top of the bag. He pulls the soup out for Chris and goes to the kitchen to grab spoons. He hovered over the drawer for a moment as a wave of pain washed over his chest. He swallowed it down and headed back out. He grabbed the duvet on his way.
When he comes back into the living room, Chris is seated on the opposite side of the couch as Stiles. Peter tucks the duvet around Chris and hands him a spoon. He takes a seat in the armchair beside Stiles.
Stiles watches the exchange closely. “So you guys live together now?”
“We’re married,” Chris and Peter say at the same time and smile at each other.
“No shit! Congrats!” Stiles smiles and takes a rather large bite of his sandwich.
Peter wants to tell him he’s going to choke on it, but Chris gives him a look. Peter makes a small gesture of surrender with his spoon and eats his soup.
~~
After dinner, they showed Stiles to the guest bed and bath. Chris made him promise to be there in the morning and Stiles agreed. At this point, there was no way Stiles was passing up a hot shower and a warm bed. Chris hugged him tight, clapped his back, pulled back, and slid his hand up to Stiles’ head.
“I’m glad you’re here Stiles. I’m glad you’re safe.”
Stiles dipped his head low but raised it back up when Peter gently put a hand on one of his shoulders.
“Get some rest, Stiles. We’re right across the hall if you need us.” Stiles nodded at Peter a little taken aback.
Chris and Peter said goodnight and went into their room. Stiles shut the door to the guest room and pressed his back to it. A mixture of sadness, shame, and relief welled up in him. Hot tears escaped his eyes, but he wiped them away with the heel of his palms and pushed down his emotions.
In the next room, Peter picked up on the chemosignals just as the guest shower turned on and washed them away.
“Okay, Peter, what aren’t you telling me?” Chris tossed an extra pillow behind him and pulled back the blankets on the bed. Peter didn’t answer right away as they climbed in. Chris put his arm out offering his chest as a pillow and Peter folded himself into the other man.
Peter held a breath and then said, “He’s clearly homeless, but those men, they called him a whore. They were trying to pay him to blow them all.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
“You think he’s okay in there?”
“He’s fine.”
Chris scoffed and smiled. “Eavesdropper.”
Peter chuckled as Chris leaned down to kiss the other man’s head. Peter tilted his head up and they shared a kiss.
“Goodnight, my love.”
“Goodnight, pet.”
Peter made a playful growl at the name and Chris grinned. Chris smoothed Peter’s hair and traced his fingers along his jawline until Peter closed his eyes and fell asleep. Chris waited a few moments before he pulled out his phone and checked for any news of an attack. He put his phone down when he didn’t find anything and fell asleep.
~~
The next morning, Stiles woke up with a slight tickle in his throat, a splitting pain in his head, and a ringing in his ears that sounded like rushing water and distant crickets. He went to put his clothes on but found sweats and a t-shirt instead. He pulled them on and slowly poked his head out of the bedroom door.
The door to Chris and Peter’s room was cracked and he could hear the sound of the shower running. He could also hear the sound of someone in the kitchen. He padded slowly down the steps but moved quicker when his bare feet touched the tile. Chris was in the kitchen frying eggs.
“‘Morning,” Stiles said with a little wave as he slid onto a barstool.
“Good morning. How do you like your eggs?”
“Oh you don’t have t-“ Chris turned around and gave Stiles his very best try-me face. “Scrambled, um, if that’s okay.”
“Sure! Do you like anything in them? I usually keep some onions and bell peppers around for Peter’s scrambled eggs. Or shredded cheese?” Chris flipped his own over easy eggs out of the skillet and onto a plate.
“Yeah, sure, that all sounds good.” Stiles figured if that’s how Peter liked them, then at least Chris wouldn’t have too much extra to do on account of him.
Chris picked up his plate and ate a few bites before chopping the onions and peppers. He cracked 6 eggs into a cup, added a splash of milk, and mixed it with a fork. Stiles watched as he sautéed the onions and peppers, and then poured in the egg mixture. He’d never seen so many steps to scrambled eggs. His dad always cracked the eggs straight into the pan and mixed them with the spatula. Sometimes he would forget to grease the pan and they came out dry and brown. He pushed the memory away before the sadness could creep in again.
“Uh, listen,” Stiles scratched the back of his head then continued, “I appreciate you guys letting me stay last night, but I really don’t want to intrude, ya know?”
“Stiles, we don’t mind you being here. We like having you here. I’d like to think it’s better than the street, right?” Chris gave him a pointed, but gentle look.
“I don’t live on the-, I’m not-, okay I am, but I get by,” Stiles cursed softly and dropped his head into his hands.
Chris pulled two plates down and distributed the eggs onto them. He set one of the plates in front of Stiles and went to wash his hands. Stiles began to eat just as Peter walked in with nothing but a towel around his waist.
“Hey, Peter,” Stiles choked a little on a piece of egg and immediately put a lot of effort into staring at his plate.
Peter smirked at the reaction and kissed his husband on the cheek. He pulled back and said, “You got him sick, you know?”
“What? Damnit, I’m sorry Stiles. Everything happened so fast last night and I completely forgot about my cold,” Chris slapped the counter with the towel he was using to dry his hands.
“It’s okay. I’m not sick. I feel fine, honestly,” Stiles threw both hands up as if to say, ‘see?’
“Nope, definitely sick. I can smell it,” Peter tapped his nose, took a bite of his eggs, and said, “and also lying about feeling fine.”
“Okay, well, maaaybe I have a little headache.” Stiles pushed the eggs on his plate sourly.
Chris opened a cabinet, pulled down a bottle of ibuprofen, and said, “Here. What would you like to drink?”
“Thanks. Waters fine.” Stiles took three pills and swallowed them without waiting for the water. “Okay, but seriously, what did you do to these eggs? These have got to be the best eggs I’ve ever had. They’re so fluffy! Seriously!”
“Magic,” Chris chuckled, “and milk.”
Stiles ate the whole plate a little too fast and found himself full but missing them.
“Oh hey, what happened to my clothes?”
“Well, after convincing Peter not to throw them away, I put them in the wash. They should be done soon though. This is everything I found in your pockets.” Chris set a dish in front of him.
In the dish were his wallet, cigarettes, a lighter, a paper clip, and a crumpled $20 bill. White-hot anxiety fell over him like a bucket of water. Stiles mumbled, “Thanks.” He picked up everything except for the $20 and excused himself to have a cigarette.
When he returned, the $20 was gone and had been replaced by 2 $10 bills. He still wasn’t sure he wanted to touch them, but he picked them up anyway and carefully placed them in his wallet.
Peter rounded the corner dressed in black slacks and a deep purple button-down. He adjusted his collar and cuffs and said, “I have to go to work for a bit. I hope you’re here when I get back. I know that Chris would enjoy your company.” Peter put on his coat and grabbed his keys off a hook on the wall. He turned to Stiles and waited for an answer.
Stiles shifted from foot to foot, let out a breath, and said, “Yeah, yeah okay. I’ll be here.”
“Good.” Peter flashed a grin. He found Chris on the couch and kissed him. He pressed his forehead to the other man’s and said, “Love you.” He stood up, said goodbye to them both, and left.
Peter walked to work on the same route he’d taken home last night. As he came up to the bar, he expected to see police or at least police tape, but there was nothing. He stole a quick glance down the alley. No bodies. No one.
He popped into Rick’s for some muffins. He figured he might hear some gossip about what happened the night before. Still nothing. With his muffins, he continued to the gallery. He had a few appointments with buyers and his current exhibition artist so he started a pot of coffee and set out the muffins.
~~
At home, Chris checked the news for the 10th time that morning. There still wasn’t any sign of an attack. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but he’d take it for now.
Stiles entered the living room hesitantly. He crossed his arms and then put one hand on his neck. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know where to begin.
“Stiles, come sit down. I don’t bite, that’s Peter.”
Stiles laughed and sat down as far away on the couch as he could.
Chris asked, “Do you want to talk, or we could watch something?”
“Um, yeah, I guess there are some movies I’ve missed out on. I really wanted to see Deadpool, but haven’t gotten to it.”
Chris smiled and pulled up the movie on Disney+. As the opening credits began, Stiles blurted out, “Have you talked to my dad?”
Chris paused the movie and turned his body to face Stiles. “I haven’t spoken with him recently, but I know that he misses you a lot. I have his number, do you want me to call him?”
Stiles thought for a moment. “Not yet, soon, but I don’t know if I’m ready yet.” Stiles looked down at himself, bit his lip, and then smoothed the t-shirt he was wearing.
“Okay,” Chris started, “let me know when you are, and we can call him together.” He put his hand on Stiles’ shoulder and pressed play on the movie.
About 10 minutes in Stiles started sneezing. Chris handed him a box of tissues and offered to share his blanket. Stiles thanked him and moved in closer. About halfway through the movie, Stiles fell asleep. He began to shiver, so Chris felt his forehead and then moved him in closer to himself.
By the time Peter came home, Stiles’ head was in Chris’ lap and Chris was absentmindedly petting his hair. Peter stopped to look at them.
“Don’t be jealous, pet,” Chris teased.
“I’m not, I’m just glad he’s still here.”
“Me too.”
Peter crossed the room and greeted his husband with a kiss. “I got some more of that soup for the both of you. I also walked past, um, the area, and didn’t see anything.”
“Yeah, I’ve been checking the news and there’s nothing. I think you’re good.”
Peter nodded his head, set the soup down, and went to take off his coat. He brought out two spoons and took a seat on the couch beside Stiles’ curled-up legs. He rested his hand on Stiles’ calf and stared down at him for a long moment.
“I can’t believe he’s here. I can’t believe he’s alive,” Peter said.
“He asked about his dad, but he said he isn’t ready to call him just yet.”
Peter nodded in response.
They sat in silence while Chris ate his soup and Stiles slept. About half an hour later, Stiles started to stir. He jolted quickly when he realized his head was in Chris’ lap and his leg in Peter’s.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, uh, um,” he was embarrassed and stopped before he started to ramble.
“It’s okay, Stiles. Really. I’m just glad you got some rest. Here, Peter brought you some soup.” Chris leaned forward and pulled the lid off the styrofoam container. He placed the spoon next to it and sat back.
“Th-thanks,” Stiles said as he grabbed the soup and began to eat. Chris put a comforting hand on Stiles’ back and then stood up. Peter followed him into the kitchen.
Chris grabbed his husband by the hips and pushed him back against the countertop. He pressed his body against him and used one knee to spread Peter's legs. He kissed the crook of Peter’s neck and then up past his jaw. He stopped at Peter’s ear and whispered, “I missed you, Pet.”
Heat filled Peter’s stomach and he whispered back, “I missed you too, Sir.”
Chris put his forehead to Peter’s and said, “I thought you could use some grounding. Are you doing okay today?”
Peter nodded, but Chris pushed further. “Use your words, Pet.”
Peter swallowed loudly before saying, “I spent most of the day worried about Stiles, but I got through it.”
“And what about the other thing?”
“They deserved it, and I can’t be in 100% control of myself 100% of the time.”
Chris kissed his forehead and whispered, “Good boy.”
He flipped Peter around and bent him over the countertop. Peter landed on his elbows with his fingers splayed out. It was an obedient position he’d taken many times. Chris ran his hands up and down Peter's body. His fingers teased at the waistband of Peter’s pants. He spoke softly in Peter’s ear, “We’ll finish this later, Pet.”
They stood that way for a few moments longer when they heard a spoon clatter on the floor. They looked up to see Stiles with his mouth hung open and a slightly hungry look in his eyes.
Peter could smell Stiles’ arousal, but instead of pointing it out, he said, “What, never seen a man bent over before?”
“Not from this angle. I’m usually the one b-,” Stiles cut himself off, set his soup container down, and quickly exited the kitchen.
Chris gave Peter a quick hard swat on the ass and followed after Stiles.
“So, Stiles, you wanna try that movie again?” Chris said it as if nothing had happened, and Stiles was grateful for it. Chris sat back down on the couch, and Stiles sat back down next to him.
Peter came out of the kitchen, readjusted his pants, and tapped Stiles on the leg. “Scoot.”
Stiles moved closer to Chris and Peter sat down on the other side of him. Peter put his arm on the back of the couch and Chris met him, hand to forearm. Peter could smell the nervousness and arousal coming from Stiles but kept it to himself as Chris pressed play on the movie.