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spikecentricTitle: ⟫ Buried Truth
Fandom: ⟫ Teen Wolf
Characters/Pairing: ⟫ Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: ⟫ Mature
Spook Me Prompt: ⟫ Graveyard
Word Count: ⟫ 5,980
Summary: ⟫ The alpha trials are no joke but Peter doesn’t think it’s going to be that bad. After all, he has Stiles by his side and there are rules that have to be followed. But what happens when the Nemeton intervenes and it becomes very obvious that Peter isn’t going to succeed unless he admits the truth about how he feels?
His pillow felt like a rock and his mattress wasn’t much better. Groaning, he rolled over and opened his eyes. He was surrounded by pitch black in utter silence and with a shocked gasp, he lurched upwards and knocked himself out on an unexpected ‘ceiling’.
“I didn’t think I was allowed to see you before I completed the trials,” Peter said, doing up his cufflinks as he watched Alan walk into the room.
“That would be the – well, the norm,” Alan admitted, coming to stand in front of him. “But I received a – a communique – and it’s essential that it is acted upon with speed.”
“A communique? How formal Alan,” Peter replied, leaning back against the dressing table and folding his arms over his chest.
“Peter – must you make this difficult?”
“You know I can’t resist when you get all Druid-y with cryptic warnings!” Peter said with a smirk.
“Fine – but this is serious!”
“When isn’t it?” Peter sighed. “Okay, I’m listening – lay some of your knowledge on me, but please don’t drag it out – I need to pick up Stiles before I head to the centre.”
“Peter – I think this about Stiles.” All patience suddenly gone, Peter strode over to Alan.
“What the fuck are you talking about? And none of your cryptic bullshit, Alan – Talia might put up with it but that’s not the way I work!”
“You’re one to talk about cryptic – okay, okay!” Alan said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I received a message from the Druid Council – one of their – I don’t even know how to describe this person. Alright – they have people within the Council who can communicate with the world in ways that we cannot. And they received a warning – or notification, it’s hard to describe.”
“I swear to God, Alan, I will rip your throat out with my teeth if you don’t get on with it!” Peter replied, baring said teeth.
“The Nemeton within Beacon Hills has been dormant since the incident that saw it being almost destroyed. However, following certain portents and warnings, we believe that the Nemeton is ready to communicate with us again.”
Peter made a ‘carry-on’ gesture impatiently with his hand.
“You know that your charts were completed when you born, as it was with Talia and other members of the Hale pack. And you are also aware that although Talia is the alpha following the loss of your mother, you yourself have been imbued with an alpha spirit – which at this point in time has not been activated.”
“Alan, if I wanted the history of my family, I could visit the vaults. Hurry up!”
Alan heaved an impatient sigh and continued speaking as if Peter hadn’t said anything. “You know that Talia and Riordan are needed elsewhere – the Calaveras have made a complete mess of their territory and the Druid Council has agreed that once you have completed the trials, Talia and Riordan will travel there to assist.”
“More like weed out the idiots and set them straight, but yes, carry on.”
“Based on the translations we have received, the Nemeton may view you as an acceptable alpha for the territory – and choose to reawaken the beacon.”
“You know I give zero shits about all of that! I’m only going through the alpha trials because Talia has requested it of me – I far prefer eviscerating people in court and sharpening my claws on any idiots who think that Beacon Hills is a good base to begin their delusions of world domination.” Peter heaved a sigh and tried to calm down – getting angry at Alan wouldn’t help anything and he knew that his friend was trying to help. “I apologise – continue.”
“Save the spark – unbury the truth – then all shall be as it should be.” Alan’s voice had changed, the tone deepening and Peter looked at his friend and realised that he was in some kind of trance. His eyes were completely white and unfocused and he stood as still as a statue as he continued to speak. “It is within you to be a True Alpha to Beacon Hills and to the Nemeton – but in order to do that, you must release the spark from its’ cage and acknowledge the buried truth.”
“What buried – Alan, are you okay?” Alan’s eyes returned to normal, but the slightly ashy tone to his dark skin and stumble made it plain that this was not something he normally dealt with. With careful hands, Peter guided Alan to the nearest chair, helping his friend sit before dragging a chair over so that he could sit in front of him. “Is there anything you need?”
“I don’t – what did I say?”
“You said something about releasing a spark and unburying the truth – which I am completely confused by but that’s by the by. Are you alright? And what does that have to do with Stiles? And what the ever-loving fuck is a true alpha?!”
His head was absolutely killing him and he was hoping he wasn’t going to vomit. Waking up and opening his eyes, he was once again greeted by absolute darkness and silence. He reached up and felt around above him, following the lines of the ‘ceiling’ as he spread his arms out. The space he was in was wider than both of his arms spread out but he couldn’t sit up without hurting himself.
Shuffling his feet around, he couldn’t feel anything that demonstrated an ‘end’ point to the enclosure – he refused to call it anything else for fear of setting off a panic attack. Cursing himself for a fool, he dug into his pocket and dragged out his cell phone, breathing a sigh of relief when the screen came to life in his hands. There was no signal but the torch worked and he could see that it was mid-afternoon. Waving the cell phone around, he took in his surroundings and finally admitted to himself that he was in a long, rectangular box that to all intents and purposes appeared to be a coffin.
He was stuck in a coffin and possibly underground.
Yeah, time for that panic attack.
“So take me to the Nemeton,” Peter repeated, striding around the office in an attempt to release some tension.
“I can’t, Peter – it’s not that I don’t want to! The Nemeton only reveals itself to those it chooses – if it was that simple, I would have done so already!”
“And tell me again why you think this has to do with Stiles?”
“He didn’t tell you?” Alan froze in his seat, looking at Peter with a confused face.
“Tell me what? And why would you think he would tell me?”
“Peter – the whole pack knows about you and Stiles! The pair of you might think that you’re being discreet, but believe me – you have been caught no less than three times. One of those times was Erica and she took great delight in telling us all in explicit detail exactly how she discovered you!”
“I don’t know what you’re – “ Peter began but Alan met his gaze and raised his eyebrow. “Sometimes I hate how nosey this whole pack is! And there’s nothing to tell about Stiles and I – he’s just exploring! At some point, he’ll realise that he doesn’t have to stay in some backward place like Beacon Hills and spread his wings! We’re just – just having fun.” He could tell Alan wasn’t believing a word he spoke and wiped his hands over his face. “Alan – he’s six years younger than me, an intelligent and talented young man. Why would you think he would want to remain in Beacon Hills? He’s not interested in anything permanent with me and – well, I’m perfectly happy with being his walk on the bi-side.”
“That is such bullshit! I don’t know why you feel the need to hide the fact that you are the ultimate family man just waiting for a family and pack of his own, but that may just be the truth that needs to be unburied! Even Talia believes your shit about hating the place!”
“Alan – “
“No, enough! I may be Talia’s Emissary but I am your friend, and Peter this shit needs to stop! Why don’t you think you deserve someone like Stiles?” In reply, Peter could do nothing but flash his shining blue eyes in Alan’s direction.
“Would you want to tie yourself to a murderer?”
“PETER!”
“That is, in essence, what I am after all. I might have completed some of those tasks in service to the pack, but to a human that does not make me less of a monster. In fact, based on the pacifist tendencies of Stiles’ best friend, I would think that it makes me even more of a monster in his eyes.”
“Scott can be – more than a little naive. And Stiles understands more than you think. You were away at college when the Sheriff lost his wife – he fell into the bottle and came very close to losing his job and his son.”
“How – I mean, what makes you think that and how did they sort things out?”
“Stiles sorted things out – as young as he was, he visited your mother and requested pack assistance, leveraging his potential.”
Peter fell into a chair, hand to his mouth in shock. “He went to Mother?”
“He did. He stood in this very office and explained that having a member of law enforcement within pack ranks could only be a good thing but that he needed her assistance first. He didn’t want the bite for himself – or Scott, who was struggling with his asthma – he just wanted an adult to help him get his father back onto his feet and remain in Beacon Hills.” Alan was looking much better, warmth returning to his skin and he looked much steadier. “He explained to Lenora that he might end up being something utterly mundane but that he was already an asset in terms of his research capabilities, his knowledge of law enforcement, as well as his ‘google-fu’ I believe he called it. It was quite impressive – your mother was quite the intimidating woman and yet he stood toe-to-toe with her, negotiated for himself and his father, and has proved his worth to the pack dozens of time since then.”
“How did I not know this?”
“Because it has remained something private between Stiles and the Alpha of Beacon Hills. Which is why your sister knows that he is a spark and potentially one of the strongest in the country.”
“What the hell is a spark? And you still haven’t explained this True Alpha thing.”
“Peter – we don’t have time for all of this.”
“Why not? Are you actually saying that Stiles is in danger?”
“The Nemeton does not choose lightly – there are always tests of worthiness when it is involved. And it is not a coincidence that this has occurred on the day you are doing the alpha trials. In fact, I would go so far as to say that this may well completely replace the alpha trials – a Nemeton choosing an Alpha is not something to be taken lightly. And with Stiles being a spark – Peter this is BIG!”
“So where do I start? I’m too late for the trials now but I DO need to find Stiles and speak to him.”
“You need to go into the Preserve and allow the land to guide you to where it needs you to be.”
“If you say I have to wear some funky-assed robe, you and I will have a falling out!” he warned Alan but then nodded. “So, I just walk into the Preserve and ask the strangely sentient tree to guide me to Stiles?”
“Basically.”
A panic attack could last a hell of a long time when there was no-one there to help you through it. Every time he thought he might be getting a grip on his breathing, he was once again reminded that he seemed to be in a sealed box with no visible exits, no way of letting anyone know where he was because he didn’t know where he was and as far as he knew, everyone who might even consider looking for him would be at the centre for Peter’s alpha trials.
He was so fucked, it was almost preferable to die straight away rather than suffocate slowly.
Which is when he realised that he wasn’t lacking oxygen. His lungs were struggling, but that was mental more than physical – there was enough oxygen in the ‘box’ that he slowly realised that he didn’t need to worry about suffocating.
The panic attack faded somewhat as he realised that and he took some time to calm himself down, using the breathing techniques he had been taught by his therapist to reach something resembling a level of Zen.
Now would be an excellent time for his ‘spark’ to roar to life and save him but he had absolutely no idea how to do that. And yes, he was kicking himself for not listening to Deaton when he had offered to lend him some relevant books to read on the subject. Closing his eyes, he centred himself and tried to remember the little he had managed to read on the subject of sparks. Within his chest, he could feel a warmth that slowly began to spread throughout his body, the darkness and silence no longer a terrifying thing but something to aid him in ‘finding’ what it was he needed to do.
His mind went on a tangent, wondering if Peter had missed him yet, if he had even noticed that Stiles wasn’t there for the momentous occasion of the alpha trials. He knew Peter liked him – that was obvious from the sheer amount of time they spent together. And he knew Peter was attracted to him – as evidenced by the fact that there were times when he had visited Beacon Hills from college and seen nothing of the pack or outsiders because he spent all of his time with either his father or Peter.
But would Peter miss him or just think Stiles didn’t care about the trials? The arrangement between the two of them was un-named, un-mentioned and as far as Stiles knew, no one in the pack knew anything about it. He didn’t think Peter was ashamed of him or of what they were doing – it just wasn’t anyone else’s business. His dad had tried talking to him about it – asking if Stiles knew what he was getting himself into – but apart from that, he hadn’t spoken abut it to anyone. As far as he knew, neither had Peter.
Refusing to consider what a fuck up that whole situation was – before the conversation had ended, his father had told him he should tell Peter how he felt but he had scoffed at the mere idea and walked away – he once again concentrated on his breathing, sending his senses out of the box to see if he could feel in some way where he was.
Not that he expected it to work.
Which was why when he felt a response from outside – something turning towards him in a metaphysical sense – he panicked and tried to sit up, once again knocking himself backwards and slamming his head on the ground hard enough to shake his brain.
“There is absolutely nothing to confirm that Alan isn’t just winding you up – you didn’t even try to call Stiles’ cell for fuck’s sake,” Peter muttered to himself, stomping through the tree line and heading towards a small gap in the trees. Standing still, the slowly darkening sky clear above him through the branches and leaves, he tried to steady his breathing and centre himself. “This is beyond ridiculous,” he said out loud, turning in a slow circle. He had absolutely no idea what the hell he was doing and he could only imagine how pissed Talia was going to be when she discovered that he hadn’t completed the trials as expected and that her departure with Riordan was going to be delayed. “Fine – oh mystic tree of Beacon Hills, I have come as requested by your messenger. I present myself as a potential alpha for your territory and am willing to follow your lead.”
His words were greeted with silence – not that he expected to hear anything else – and he was on the verge of accepting that Alan had set him up with some ridiculous prank when he felt it. It was like a ribbon, unfurling from his chest and leading through the trees. Flicking to his werewolf eyes, he could see it ahead of him – a swirling, bright blue ribbon of light emanating from his chest, physically pulling him. Aware of a renewed sense of urgency, Peter quickly checked his cell-phone to ensure that the GPS was working and that he had bars so a call was possible, then began to follow the enticing, waving ribbon of light. He realised he was moving fast – faster than he ever had before – his feet finding their path easily as he allowed his senses to reach out. It was almost as if the earth itself were aiding him, guiding his feet so that his progress was silent.
He could hear wildlife around him, the day creatures heading home, the night creatures venturing out, and a quick glance around showed him that he had absolutely no idea where he was. Which was damned near impossible because he and his family had mapped every inch of the Preserve in their time in Beacon Hills. He stumbled slightly with confusion before a strange scent had his head turning and his fangs beginning to drop – something smelled wrong in his Preserve, the scent of death so strong that it stung his powerful nose.
Adjusting his direction, he ran silently in the direction of the truly awful smell, a small part of him terrified that not only would he find Stiles when he got wherever he was being led, but that Stiles might actually BE the source of the smell.
“Okay, we’ve had more than enough concussions to last us a lifetime – perhaps we could try not to give ourselves any more?!” Shifting around carefully, the broadness of his shoulders causing some issues before he managed to slink around in his ‘box’ until he was lying on his front, elbows keeping his body upright as he checked his phone. Still no signal and time seemed to be passing faster than he had thought. Someone should have realised he was missing by now, surely? He was trying desperately not to think about needing the bathroom because he knew it would just make things worse, so closing his eyes, he focused on the ‘thing’ he had sensed earlier.
“That’s it – come to Stiles – you can do it – hopefully you have hands and arms so you can dig me out because I think I’m underground,” he whispered, grasping at the strands of feeling that seemed to reaching for him. It was more than one of whatever this was – in fact, there were so many he was losing count. And all of them seemed to be under his control which was (a) majorly cool and (b) majorly terrifying because he had no idea what he was controlling and what it was capable of.
Above him, there was a thunking sound, like something had landed heavily and then began the muffled sounds of something digging. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he had plenty of air and plenty of time – whatever was out there was working for him, helping him escape – there was absolutely no way this thing (or things) was digging him up just to feast on his brains. Although he had always told Scott that in the event of a zombie apocalypse he was going to be considered a feast whereas they would probably leave Scott alone and consider him a junk meal. He snorted before reminding himself of the seriousness of the situation.
Where the hell was Peter? WHY wasn’t Peter here, looking for him – rescuing him? Did he really not care? It had begun to feel like he cared – the sex was out-fucking-standing, but they didn’t always have sex – sometimes they just cuddled on Peter’s obscenely comfortable couch and watched Reality TV and criticised the people on it for their life choices. They’d even talked about some of the cases Peter worked on – he did ‘human’ law, but his speciality was in handling the supernatural cases. Peter was famous for defending creatures that most people would have run away from, but on the other hand when he was the prosecutor – man, Stiles had sneaked into one of the proceedings that Peter was involved in and he’d had an uncomfortable boner from the time Peter started talking. He ran rings around the Defence Counsel, got the plaintiff to admit to more than he’d been captured for, and generally stroked Stiles’ competency kink until he was sure he’d nut where he sat.
Yeah, celebrating that win had been pretty amazing and he hadn’t sat comfortably for over a week. Well worth it.
Especially as Peter had remained in his suit whilst he railed Stiles over the back of said amazing couch – good times.
“Focus Stiles!” he admonished himself out loud, his voice echoing slightly. The noise above his head was getting louder, as if whatever was up there was getting closer and Stiles forced himself to take several deep breathes.
He wasn’t ready to die – he had to look after his Dad. And he wanted to hear where Peter thought their relationship was going – especially if he became Alpha of Beacon Hills.
The fog came from nowhere, swirling around Peter’s feet and obscuring his view until he was running on pure instinct. The smell grew stronger and stronger and looking around, Peter realised he did recognise where he was. Somehow, taking him through paths he’d never travelled, the Nemeton had brought him to his family’s graveyard. Generations of Hales were buried here – from his great grandparents downwards – and although he wasn’t a frequent visitor, he was shocked that he hadn’t realised where he was being led.
What was worse was that some of the graves showed signs of being disturbed – earth tossed aside to pile up alongside gravestones; grass trampled, earth disrupted – something was very, very wrong. He moved even faster if that were possible, following the obvious signs of disturbance towards the furthest end of the graveyard before coming to a halt, stunned at the sight before him.
Between five and ten people – and he used the term loosely – were knelt around a fresh grave, digging ineffectually with hands that were in the main skeletal. They were ferocious in their attempts, growling and snapping at each other and they each tried their best to get to whatever was in that plot.
And Peter had an absolutely awful thought that he knew exactly what was in the plot and what prize they were after. He wasn’t aware of transforming, his clothes ripping apart as his wolf burst through, growling, snapping and attacking the zombies from around the plot.
They fought back, two of them turning to him with blue and amber eyes glowing in the moonlight, mouths full of fangs and claws reaching for him. He refused to even think about whether he recognised them – he didn’t want to think about fighting his dead relatives to save Stiles – it seemed a step too far, an abomination that he couldn’t get his head around. Uncoordinated, they were still dangerous as they staggered around him, trying to drive him away from the plot even as he struggled to get closer.
Their digging was showing results, the hole getting big enough that he could see the coffin. Stiles was in there – someone or something had put Stiles into a coffin in the ground and Peter was going to repay the favour as soon as he’d got rid of these fucking zombies! Changing tactics, he morphed into his beta form, throwing the zombies over his shoulder as he got closer and closer to the plot.
They had managed to clear the coffin but were unable to coordinate themselves to actually open it and he took his chance, leaping over the two of them that were trying to push him away (sorry Grandpa!) and landing next to the open plot.
“STILES!!” He shouted, hoping against hope that he wasn’t too late; that Stiles was alive and could hear him; that this whole thing wouldn’t end with him losing the person he was finally admitting to himself was his perfect match. He tried to jump down into the gap, avoiding grasping zombie hands but was thrown backwards, a purple sparking light surrounding the plot. He looked down at the ground, realising that there was a thin line of mountain ash encompassing the plot. “FUCK!! Stiles!”
“Peter?!” The voice was faint but it was most definitely Stiles and with renewed energy, he attacked the mountain ash barrier, pushing himself against it with all of his strength. The zombies in the plot had given up on trying to finesse the lid of the coffin, instead smashing their closed fists on it in an attempt to break it open.
“Stiles – I can’t get to you!” he shouted in reply, desperation in his voice as he watched the wooden lid begin to crack open. There was no way in hell he was getting this close and letting Stiles die – that would not be borne. Howling into the sky, he took several steps backwards and then threw himself at the mountain ash barrier, gritting his teeth against the pain as it began to burn through the skin on his shoulder. His howl transformed into a scream, his eyes watering and burning as he used all of his strength.
“Peter!” Stiles sounded panicked and Peter felt tears begin to stream down his face as the barrier refused to give way and he watched as the zombies finally made their way through the wooden barrier and reached their prize.
“STILES!!!”
He had called them – they were here to help him, not to kill him. Chanting that over and over in his head, Stiles struggled to turn over once again, gasping as the cold night air reached him through the smashed in lid of the coffin. He struggled to his feet, stumbling a little as feeling returned to his legs and he looked around. There were three bedraggled looking individuals simply standing in the plot with him, flesh hanging from their bones, eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
Stiles fell backwards to try to get away from them before he realised that they weren’t trying to get to him – in fact, they seemed to be waiting for instruction! He looked up and saw Peter fighting against an invisible barrier, his muscles bulging, a primal scream escaping him. Stiles stood utterly stunned as Peter’s eyes gleamed red and he shoved his way through the barrier in a shower of sparks.
The zombies turned towards Peter, growling beneath their breath as they assessed him as a danger and Stiles realised they might attack him. It looked like Peter had already been fighting – he was covered in scratches and bruises, his shoulder peeling from where it had been pressed against the mountain ash barrier.
“Peter – be careful!”
“I think I can handle my relatives thanks Stiles!” Peter snarked back before jumping into the plot at Stiles’ side so that they were facing the zombies together.
“Your relatives – holy shit, I knew I recognised that jacket!” Stiles exclaimed, looking at one of the zombies and realising that he’d attended their funeral. He threw himself into Peter’s arms, tears threatening as he finally accepted that he wasn’t going to suffocate to death. Peter had come for him – somehow Peter had found him. Peter held him tight, burying his face in Stiles’ neck and breathing in his scent. “Peter – I think I called them to help me!”
“You – holy shit, you’re a necromancer?!” Peter pushed Stiles away so that he could hold him at arms’ length. “Can you – send them back? I can see how they’ve been helpful but I really could do without seeing my mother and father in these circumstances!”
“Yeah – yeah!” Stiles replied before turning to face the silently watching zombies once again. “Erm, you got any ideas how I do that?”
“How did you get them to come and rescue you?” Peter asked, keeping a wary eye on the zombies, especially the two that he had jumped over who had made their way to the graveside. His arms came to rest around Stiles’ waist and he placed his head on Stiles’ shoulder so that he could watch proceedings.
“I just kinda – reached out and they answered! I wasn’t sure they were obeying me until they started digging me out of there!”
“Okay – well, maybe tell them their job is done and they can go back to their rest?” Peter replied and Stiles nodded, realising that that made perfect sense if you lived the life that they did.
“Well, guys – and girls – thanks for the assist and everything! Sorry for dragging you away from your rest – um, everything’s cool now so you can go back to your – um, to your plots maybe?” he said hesitantly. The lead zombie who Stiles was pretty sure was Lenora Hale stepped towards him and he cringed back into Peter’s embrace. A skeletal hand reached out and she stroked it down Stiles’ cheek, her red eyes taking in everything about him with a perceptive stare.
“This is my partner, Mother,” Peter spoke from behind him, his tone oddly formal. “As he has demonstrated to you, he is more than worthy – I can only hope that I can live up to his loyalty, steadfastness and strength.”
Lenora looked over Stiles’ shoulder directly at Peter and her face cracked into a smile. Literally cracked – the skin broke, sinews and muscle showing, rotted teeth clinging to decaying gums as she smiled and nodded her approval at the two of them.
“Er, yeah – what he said. He’s my person and – yeah I’d kill for him and shit but we don’t make a big thing of it.”
“Perhaps it’s time that we did,” Peter whispered into his ear and Stiles shivered at the sensation. If there was ever an inappropriate time to get a boner, it was in front of your partner’s zombie mother who you’d forced out of their grave to come and literally dig you out of a jam. Maybe not the best impression but Lenora didn’t seem to hold it against him.
She nodded at them once more before she turned, gesturing to the other zombies with a shooing motion. Stiles watched as they obediently slowly stumbled their way out of the plot and began making their way back to their graves. Using the coffin and the piles of dirt left by the zombies, he and Peter made their way out of the hole to watch as the zombies returned to their rest, the ground settling on top of them until the whole area looked completely undisturbed. Peter moved until he knelt by his mother’s grave, resting his hand on the gravestone before tracing the engraved name with a gentle finger.
“I’m so so sorry – “ Stiles began but Peter leapt to his feet and grabbed Stiles, shaking him slightly before yanking him into another tight embrace. Peter being naked wasn’t helping Stiles with his boner issue but he would be lying if he tried to claim that his grip on Peter wasn’t just a tight.
The hug morphed into a kiss – gentle, searching, reassuring – and Stiles felt the last of his tension leaving his body as he allowed Peter to take his weight. Their kisses weren’t like this – they were raw, powerful, strong with lust – but this, this was something so much more.
“Jesus Christ, Stiles, I love you so fucking much! If something had happened to you – if I had been too late – “
“You love me?” He asked in a small voice and Peter gave a small chuckle.
“It would appear that the only person who didn’t know that was you – and for that, I apologise and swear that for the rest of my life I will ensure that you never doubt that fact again.”
“And Peter – your eyes!! You completed the trials?”
“No – I’ve spent the day trying to find you!”
“But I saw them – they were bright red AND you pushed through a mountain ash barrier!” Stiles argued. “Flash your eyes at me!” he demanded and Peter grimaced, shaking his head. “You’re scared!” Stiles said, realising too late that Peter might have expected to make it through the trials but becoming an alpha like this – no one could have expected that.
“Yeah, I’m scared! This whole thing – it was the Nemeton.”
“The Nemeton?” Stiles replied, stroking his hand soothingly over Peter’s chest.
“It – Alan says it has decided that I am the rightful alpha of Beacon Hills but only if I passed its’ asinine tests. Which apparently were assisting the spark in releasing his powers and unburying the truth.”
“This was all a test?!” Stiles shouted, anger flashing through his veins. Even considering the fact that he had somehow ordered zombies to release him from a grave without knowing just how he’d managed that, the thought that someone or something would put them through something like this as a test made his anger flare.
“Don’t shoot the messenger – I knew nothing about it until Alan told me I had to get to the Preserve and do whatever the Nemeton wanted me to do.”
“You just took his word for it? Ignored your alpha trials and came looking for me?” Stiles said, stunned once more.
“Of course – there was no way I could do the trials whilst you were potentially in danger,” Peter said matter of factly, like it wasn’t one of the most romantic things that anyone had ever done for Stiles.
“What the fuck am I going to do with you?” he finally said and Peter gave a crooked grin, gesturing to his nakedness.
“I have some ideas but I think I prefer our bedroom rather than the family graveyard!”
“I can work with that,” Stiles replied, smiling softly at Peter calling it “their” bedroom. He looked around and spotted the remnants of Peter’s pants hanging from a nearby branch. Leaving Peter’s embrace, he walked over and grabbed them, bringing them back. “Not sure just how much these will cover but at least we don’t have to worry about your wood being attacked by any other wood.”
“No biting zombies near the junk if you please,” Peter said as he accepted the item of clothing and shoved his legs into them. There was barely enough material to cover the essentials but it would do until they could get back to the Hale house – and if Stiles caught enticing glimpses of Peter’s amazing ass as they began to walk out of the graveyard, no one needed to know.
“You’re an alpha – THE alpha of Beacon Hills,” he said into the silence as they made their way through the Preserve. “The Nemeton has claimed you and you’re the alpha now.” Peter turned and grinned at him before nodding. “I’m in love with the Alpha of Beacon Hills,” he said in a wondering tone.
“It would appear so, my sweet. I hope you treat the title with the respect it deserves. And the first – and second – order of business is to get you into training with Deaton so you have control over your spark. I really think I would prefer it if my parents did not physically attend our wedding, darling.” Peter met Stiles’ gaze and flashed his ruby red eyes at him, grinning at the involuntary gasp Stiles let escape.
“I would never – hang on, wedding?!”
fin
Fandom: ⟫ Teen Wolf
Characters/Pairing: ⟫ Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: ⟫ Mature
Spook Me Prompt: ⟫ Graveyard
Word Count: ⟫ 5,980
Summary: ⟫ The alpha trials are no joke but Peter doesn’t think it’s going to be that bad. After all, he has Stiles by his side and there are rules that have to be followed. But what happens when the Nemeton intervenes and it becomes very obvious that Peter isn’t going to succeed unless he admits the truth about how he feels?
His pillow felt like a rock and his mattress wasn’t much better. Groaning, he rolled over and opened his eyes. He was surrounded by pitch black in utter silence and with a shocked gasp, he lurched upwards and knocked himself out on an unexpected ‘ceiling’.
“I didn’t think I was allowed to see you before I completed the trials,” Peter said, doing up his cufflinks as he watched Alan walk into the room.
“That would be the – well, the norm,” Alan admitted, coming to stand in front of him. “But I received a – a communique – and it’s essential that it is acted upon with speed.”
“A communique? How formal Alan,” Peter replied, leaning back against the dressing table and folding his arms over his chest.
“Peter – must you make this difficult?”
“You know I can’t resist when you get all Druid-y with cryptic warnings!” Peter said with a smirk.
“Fine – but this is serious!”
“When isn’t it?” Peter sighed. “Okay, I’m listening – lay some of your knowledge on me, but please don’t drag it out – I need to pick up Stiles before I head to the centre.”
“Peter – I think this about Stiles.” All patience suddenly gone, Peter strode over to Alan.
“What the fuck are you talking about? And none of your cryptic bullshit, Alan – Talia might put up with it but that’s not the way I work!”
“You’re one to talk about cryptic – okay, okay!” Alan said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I received a message from the Druid Council – one of their – I don’t even know how to describe this person. Alright – they have people within the Council who can communicate with the world in ways that we cannot. And they received a warning – or notification, it’s hard to describe.”
“I swear to God, Alan, I will rip your throat out with my teeth if you don’t get on with it!” Peter replied, baring said teeth.
“The Nemeton within Beacon Hills has been dormant since the incident that saw it being almost destroyed. However, following certain portents and warnings, we believe that the Nemeton is ready to communicate with us again.”
Peter made a ‘carry-on’ gesture impatiently with his hand.
“You know that your charts were completed when you born, as it was with Talia and other members of the Hale pack. And you are also aware that although Talia is the alpha following the loss of your mother, you yourself have been imbued with an alpha spirit – which at this point in time has not been activated.”
“Alan, if I wanted the history of my family, I could visit the vaults. Hurry up!”
Alan heaved an impatient sigh and continued speaking as if Peter hadn’t said anything. “You know that Talia and Riordan are needed elsewhere – the Calaveras have made a complete mess of their territory and the Druid Council has agreed that once you have completed the trials, Talia and Riordan will travel there to assist.”
“More like weed out the idiots and set them straight, but yes, carry on.”
“Based on the translations we have received, the Nemeton may view you as an acceptable alpha for the territory – and choose to reawaken the beacon.”
“You know I give zero shits about all of that! I’m only going through the alpha trials because Talia has requested it of me – I far prefer eviscerating people in court and sharpening my claws on any idiots who think that Beacon Hills is a good base to begin their delusions of world domination.” Peter heaved a sigh and tried to calm down – getting angry at Alan wouldn’t help anything and he knew that his friend was trying to help. “I apologise – continue.”
“Save the spark – unbury the truth – then all shall be as it should be.” Alan’s voice had changed, the tone deepening and Peter looked at his friend and realised that he was in some kind of trance. His eyes were completely white and unfocused and he stood as still as a statue as he continued to speak. “It is within you to be a True Alpha to Beacon Hills and to the Nemeton – but in order to do that, you must release the spark from its’ cage and acknowledge the buried truth.”
“What buried – Alan, are you okay?” Alan’s eyes returned to normal, but the slightly ashy tone to his dark skin and stumble made it plain that this was not something he normally dealt with. With careful hands, Peter guided Alan to the nearest chair, helping his friend sit before dragging a chair over so that he could sit in front of him. “Is there anything you need?”
“I don’t – what did I say?”
“You said something about releasing a spark and unburying the truth – which I am completely confused by but that’s by the by. Are you alright? And what does that have to do with Stiles? And what the ever-loving fuck is a true alpha?!”
His head was absolutely killing him and he was hoping he wasn’t going to vomit. Waking up and opening his eyes, he was once again greeted by absolute darkness and silence. He reached up and felt around above him, following the lines of the ‘ceiling’ as he spread his arms out. The space he was in was wider than both of his arms spread out but he couldn’t sit up without hurting himself.
Shuffling his feet around, he couldn’t feel anything that demonstrated an ‘end’ point to the enclosure – he refused to call it anything else for fear of setting off a panic attack. Cursing himself for a fool, he dug into his pocket and dragged out his cell phone, breathing a sigh of relief when the screen came to life in his hands. There was no signal but the torch worked and he could see that it was mid-afternoon. Waving the cell phone around, he took in his surroundings and finally admitted to himself that he was in a long, rectangular box that to all intents and purposes appeared to be a coffin.
He was stuck in a coffin and possibly underground.
Yeah, time for that panic attack.
“So take me to the Nemeton,” Peter repeated, striding around the office in an attempt to release some tension.
“I can’t, Peter – it’s not that I don’t want to! The Nemeton only reveals itself to those it chooses – if it was that simple, I would have done so already!”
“And tell me again why you think this has to do with Stiles?”
“He didn’t tell you?” Alan froze in his seat, looking at Peter with a confused face.
“Tell me what? And why would you think he would tell me?”
“Peter – the whole pack knows about you and Stiles! The pair of you might think that you’re being discreet, but believe me – you have been caught no less than three times. One of those times was Erica and she took great delight in telling us all in explicit detail exactly how she discovered you!”
“I don’t know what you’re – “ Peter began but Alan met his gaze and raised his eyebrow. “Sometimes I hate how nosey this whole pack is! And there’s nothing to tell about Stiles and I – he’s just exploring! At some point, he’ll realise that he doesn’t have to stay in some backward place like Beacon Hills and spread his wings! We’re just – just having fun.” He could tell Alan wasn’t believing a word he spoke and wiped his hands over his face. “Alan – he’s six years younger than me, an intelligent and talented young man. Why would you think he would want to remain in Beacon Hills? He’s not interested in anything permanent with me and – well, I’m perfectly happy with being his walk on the bi-side.”
“That is such bullshit! I don’t know why you feel the need to hide the fact that you are the ultimate family man just waiting for a family and pack of his own, but that may just be the truth that needs to be unburied! Even Talia believes your shit about hating the place!”
“Alan – “
“No, enough! I may be Talia’s Emissary but I am your friend, and Peter this shit needs to stop! Why don’t you think you deserve someone like Stiles?” In reply, Peter could do nothing but flash his shining blue eyes in Alan’s direction.
“Would you want to tie yourself to a murderer?”
“PETER!”
“That is, in essence, what I am after all. I might have completed some of those tasks in service to the pack, but to a human that does not make me less of a monster. In fact, based on the pacifist tendencies of Stiles’ best friend, I would think that it makes me even more of a monster in his eyes.”
“Scott can be – more than a little naive. And Stiles understands more than you think. You were away at college when the Sheriff lost his wife – he fell into the bottle and came very close to losing his job and his son.”
“How – I mean, what makes you think that and how did they sort things out?”
“Stiles sorted things out – as young as he was, he visited your mother and requested pack assistance, leveraging his potential.”
Peter fell into a chair, hand to his mouth in shock. “He went to Mother?”
“He did. He stood in this very office and explained that having a member of law enforcement within pack ranks could only be a good thing but that he needed her assistance first. He didn’t want the bite for himself – or Scott, who was struggling with his asthma – he just wanted an adult to help him get his father back onto his feet and remain in Beacon Hills.” Alan was looking much better, warmth returning to his skin and he looked much steadier. “He explained to Lenora that he might end up being something utterly mundane but that he was already an asset in terms of his research capabilities, his knowledge of law enforcement, as well as his ‘google-fu’ I believe he called it. It was quite impressive – your mother was quite the intimidating woman and yet he stood toe-to-toe with her, negotiated for himself and his father, and has proved his worth to the pack dozens of time since then.”
“How did I not know this?”
“Because it has remained something private between Stiles and the Alpha of Beacon Hills. Which is why your sister knows that he is a spark and potentially one of the strongest in the country.”
“What the hell is a spark? And you still haven’t explained this True Alpha thing.”
“Peter – we don’t have time for all of this.”
“Why not? Are you actually saying that Stiles is in danger?”
“The Nemeton does not choose lightly – there are always tests of worthiness when it is involved. And it is not a coincidence that this has occurred on the day you are doing the alpha trials. In fact, I would go so far as to say that this may well completely replace the alpha trials – a Nemeton choosing an Alpha is not something to be taken lightly. And with Stiles being a spark – Peter this is BIG!”
“So where do I start? I’m too late for the trials now but I DO need to find Stiles and speak to him.”
“You need to go into the Preserve and allow the land to guide you to where it needs you to be.”
“If you say I have to wear some funky-assed robe, you and I will have a falling out!” he warned Alan but then nodded. “So, I just walk into the Preserve and ask the strangely sentient tree to guide me to Stiles?”
“Basically.”
A panic attack could last a hell of a long time when there was no-one there to help you through it. Every time he thought he might be getting a grip on his breathing, he was once again reminded that he seemed to be in a sealed box with no visible exits, no way of letting anyone know where he was because he didn’t know where he was and as far as he knew, everyone who might even consider looking for him would be at the centre for Peter’s alpha trials.
He was so fucked, it was almost preferable to die straight away rather than suffocate slowly.
Which is when he realised that he wasn’t lacking oxygen. His lungs were struggling, but that was mental more than physical – there was enough oxygen in the ‘box’ that he slowly realised that he didn’t need to worry about suffocating.
The panic attack faded somewhat as he realised that and he took some time to calm himself down, using the breathing techniques he had been taught by his therapist to reach something resembling a level of Zen.
Now would be an excellent time for his ‘spark’ to roar to life and save him but he had absolutely no idea how to do that. And yes, he was kicking himself for not listening to Deaton when he had offered to lend him some relevant books to read on the subject. Closing his eyes, he centred himself and tried to remember the little he had managed to read on the subject of sparks. Within his chest, he could feel a warmth that slowly began to spread throughout his body, the darkness and silence no longer a terrifying thing but something to aid him in ‘finding’ what it was he needed to do.
His mind went on a tangent, wondering if Peter had missed him yet, if he had even noticed that Stiles wasn’t there for the momentous occasion of the alpha trials. He knew Peter liked him – that was obvious from the sheer amount of time they spent together. And he knew Peter was attracted to him – as evidenced by the fact that there were times when he had visited Beacon Hills from college and seen nothing of the pack or outsiders because he spent all of his time with either his father or Peter.
But would Peter miss him or just think Stiles didn’t care about the trials? The arrangement between the two of them was un-named, un-mentioned and as far as Stiles knew, no one in the pack knew anything about it. He didn’t think Peter was ashamed of him or of what they were doing – it just wasn’t anyone else’s business. His dad had tried talking to him about it – asking if Stiles knew what he was getting himself into – but apart from that, he hadn’t spoken abut it to anyone. As far as he knew, neither had Peter.
Refusing to consider what a fuck up that whole situation was – before the conversation had ended, his father had told him he should tell Peter how he felt but he had scoffed at the mere idea and walked away – he once again concentrated on his breathing, sending his senses out of the box to see if he could feel in some way where he was.
Not that he expected it to work.
Which was why when he felt a response from outside – something turning towards him in a metaphysical sense – he panicked and tried to sit up, once again knocking himself backwards and slamming his head on the ground hard enough to shake his brain.
“There is absolutely nothing to confirm that Alan isn’t just winding you up – you didn’t even try to call Stiles’ cell for fuck’s sake,” Peter muttered to himself, stomping through the tree line and heading towards a small gap in the trees. Standing still, the slowly darkening sky clear above him through the branches and leaves, he tried to steady his breathing and centre himself. “This is beyond ridiculous,” he said out loud, turning in a slow circle. He had absolutely no idea what the hell he was doing and he could only imagine how pissed Talia was going to be when she discovered that he hadn’t completed the trials as expected and that her departure with Riordan was going to be delayed. “Fine – oh mystic tree of Beacon Hills, I have come as requested by your messenger. I present myself as a potential alpha for your territory and am willing to follow your lead.”
His words were greeted with silence – not that he expected to hear anything else – and he was on the verge of accepting that Alan had set him up with some ridiculous prank when he felt it. It was like a ribbon, unfurling from his chest and leading through the trees. Flicking to his werewolf eyes, he could see it ahead of him – a swirling, bright blue ribbon of light emanating from his chest, physically pulling him. Aware of a renewed sense of urgency, Peter quickly checked his cell-phone to ensure that the GPS was working and that he had bars so a call was possible, then began to follow the enticing, waving ribbon of light. He realised he was moving fast – faster than he ever had before – his feet finding their path easily as he allowed his senses to reach out. It was almost as if the earth itself were aiding him, guiding his feet so that his progress was silent.
He could hear wildlife around him, the day creatures heading home, the night creatures venturing out, and a quick glance around showed him that he had absolutely no idea where he was. Which was damned near impossible because he and his family had mapped every inch of the Preserve in their time in Beacon Hills. He stumbled slightly with confusion before a strange scent had his head turning and his fangs beginning to drop – something smelled wrong in his Preserve, the scent of death so strong that it stung his powerful nose.
Adjusting his direction, he ran silently in the direction of the truly awful smell, a small part of him terrified that not only would he find Stiles when he got wherever he was being led, but that Stiles might actually BE the source of the smell.
“Okay, we’ve had more than enough concussions to last us a lifetime – perhaps we could try not to give ourselves any more?!” Shifting around carefully, the broadness of his shoulders causing some issues before he managed to slink around in his ‘box’ until he was lying on his front, elbows keeping his body upright as he checked his phone. Still no signal and time seemed to be passing faster than he had thought. Someone should have realised he was missing by now, surely? He was trying desperately not to think about needing the bathroom because he knew it would just make things worse, so closing his eyes, he focused on the ‘thing’ he had sensed earlier.
“That’s it – come to Stiles – you can do it – hopefully you have hands and arms so you can dig me out because I think I’m underground,” he whispered, grasping at the strands of feeling that seemed to reaching for him. It was more than one of whatever this was – in fact, there were so many he was losing count. And all of them seemed to be under his control which was (a) majorly cool and (b) majorly terrifying because he had no idea what he was controlling and what it was capable of.
Above him, there was a thunking sound, like something had landed heavily and then began the muffled sounds of something digging. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he had plenty of air and plenty of time – whatever was out there was working for him, helping him escape – there was absolutely no way this thing (or things) was digging him up just to feast on his brains. Although he had always told Scott that in the event of a zombie apocalypse he was going to be considered a feast whereas they would probably leave Scott alone and consider him a junk meal. He snorted before reminding himself of the seriousness of the situation.
Where the hell was Peter? WHY wasn’t Peter here, looking for him – rescuing him? Did he really not care? It had begun to feel like he cared – the sex was out-fucking-standing, but they didn’t always have sex – sometimes they just cuddled on Peter’s obscenely comfortable couch and watched Reality TV and criticised the people on it for their life choices. They’d even talked about some of the cases Peter worked on – he did ‘human’ law, but his speciality was in handling the supernatural cases. Peter was famous for defending creatures that most people would have run away from, but on the other hand when he was the prosecutor – man, Stiles had sneaked into one of the proceedings that Peter was involved in and he’d had an uncomfortable boner from the time Peter started talking. He ran rings around the Defence Counsel, got the plaintiff to admit to more than he’d been captured for, and generally stroked Stiles’ competency kink until he was sure he’d nut where he sat.
Yeah, celebrating that win had been pretty amazing and he hadn’t sat comfortably for over a week. Well worth it.
Especially as Peter had remained in his suit whilst he railed Stiles over the back of said amazing couch – good times.
“Focus Stiles!” he admonished himself out loud, his voice echoing slightly. The noise above his head was getting louder, as if whatever was up there was getting closer and Stiles forced himself to take several deep breathes.
He wasn’t ready to die – he had to look after his Dad. And he wanted to hear where Peter thought their relationship was going – especially if he became Alpha of Beacon Hills.
The fog came from nowhere, swirling around Peter’s feet and obscuring his view until he was running on pure instinct. The smell grew stronger and stronger and looking around, Peter realised he did recognise where he was. Somehow, taking him through paths he’d never travelled, the Nemeton had brought him to his family’s graveyard. Generations of Hales were buried here – from his great grandparents downwards – and although he wasn’t a frequent visitor, he was shocked that he hadn’t realised where he was being led.
What was worse was that some of the graves showed signs of being disturbed – earth tossed aside to pile up alongside gravestones; grass trampled, earth disrupted – something was very, very wrong. He moved even faster if that were possible, following the obvious signs of disturbance towards the furthest end of the graveyard before coming to a halt, stunned at the sight before him.
Between five and ten people – and he used the term loosely – were knelt around a fresh grave, digging ineffectually with hands that were in the main skeletal. They were ferocious in their attempts, growling and snapping at each other and they each tried their best to get to whatever was in that plot.
And Peter had an absolutely awful thought that he knew exactly what was in the plot and what prize they were after. He wasn’t aware of transforming, his clothes ripping apart as his wolf burst through, growling, snapping and attacking the zombies from around the plot.
They fought back, two of them turning to him with blue and amber eyes glowing in the moonlight, mouths full of fangs and claws reaching for him. He refused to even think about whether he recognised them – he didn’t want to think about fighting his dead relatives to save Stiles – it seemed a step too far, an abomination that he couldn’t get his head around. Uncoordinated, they were still dangerous as they staggered around him, trying to drive him away from the plot even as he struggled to get closer.
Their digging was showing results, the hole getting big enough that he could see the coffin. Stiles was in there – someone or something had put Stiles into a coffin in the ground and Peter was going to repay the favour as soon as he’d got rid of these fucking zombies! Changing tactics, he morphed into his beta form, throwing the zombies over his shoulder as he got closer and closer to the plot.
They had managed to clear the coffin but were unable to coordinate themselves to actually open it and he took his chance, leaping over the two of them that were trying to push him away (sorry Grandpa!) and landing next to the open plot.
“STILES!!” He shouted, hoping against hope that he wasn’t too late; that Stiles was alive and could hear him; that this whole thing wouldn’t end with him losing the person he was finally admitting to himself was his perfect match. He tried to jump down into the gap, avoiding grasping zombie hands but was thrown backwards, a purple sparking light surrounding the plot. He looked down at the ground, realising that there was a thin line of mountain ash encompassing the plot. “FUCK!! Stiles!”
“Peter?!” The voice was faint but it was most definitely Stiles and with renewed energy, he attacked the mountain ash barrier, pushing himself against it with all of his strength. The zombies in the plot had given up on trying to finesse the lid of the coffin, instead smashing their closed fists on it in an attempt to break it open.
“Stiles – I can’t get to you!” he shouted in reply, desperation in his voice as he watched the wooden lid begin to crack open. There was no way in hell he was getting this close and letting Stiles die – that would not be borne. Howling into the sky, he took several steps backwards and then threw himself at the mountain ash barrier, gritting his teeth against the pain as it began to burn through the skin on his shoulder. His howl transformed into a scream, his eyes watering and burning as he used all of his strength.
“Peter!” Stiles sounded panicked and Peter felt tears begin to stream down his face as the barrier refused to give way and he watched as the zombies finally made their way through the wooden barrier and reached their prize.
“STILES!!!”
He had called them – they were here to help him, not to kill him. Chanting that over and over in his head, Stiles struggled to turn over once again, gasping as the cold night air reached him through the smashed in lid of the coffin. He struggled to his feet, stumbling a little as feeling returned to his legs and he looked around. There were three bedraggled looking individuals simply standing in the plot with him, flesh hanging from their bones, eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
Stiles fell backwards to try to get away from them before he realised that they weren’t trying to get to him – in fact, they seemed to be waiting for instruction! He looked up and saw Peter fighting against an invisible barrier, his muscles bulging, a primal scream escaping him. Stiles stood utterly stunned as Peter’s eyes gleamed red and he shoved his way through the barrier in a shower of sparks.
The zombies turned towards Peter, growling beneath their breath as they assessed him as a danger and Stiles realised they might attack him. It looked like Peter had already been fighting – he was covered in scratches and bruises, his shoulder peeling from where it had been pressed against the mountain ash barrier.
“Peter – be careful!”
“I think I can handle my relatives thanks Stiles!” Peter snarked back before jumping into the plot at Stiles’ side so that they were facing the zombies together.
“Your relatives – holy shit, I knew I recognised that jacket!” Stiles exclaimed, looking at one of the zombies and realising that he’d attended their funeral. He threw himself into Peter’s arms, tears threatening as he finally accepted that he wasn’t going to suffocate to death. Peter had come for him – somehow Peter had found him. Peter held him tight, burying his face in Stiles’ neck and breathing in his scent. “Peter – I think I called them to help me!”
“You – holy shit, you’re a necromancer?!” Peter pushed Stiles away so that he could hold him at arms’ length. “Can you – send them back? I can see how they’ve been helpful but I really could do without seeing my mother and father in these circumstances!”
“Yeah – yeah!” Stiles replied before turning to face the silently watching zombies once again. “Erm, you got any ideas how I do that?”
“How did you get them to come and rescue you?” Peter asked, keeping a wary eye on the zombies, especially the two that he had jumped over who had made their way to the graveside. His arms came to rest around Stiles’ waist and he placed his head on Stiles’ shoulder so that he could watch proceedings.
“I just kinda – reached out and they answered! I wasn’t sure they were obeying me until they started digging me out of there!”
“Okay – well, maybe tell them their job is done and they can go back to their rest?” Peter replied and Stiles nodded, realising that that made perfect sense if you lived the life that they did.
“Well, guys – and girls – thanks for the assist and everything! Sorry for dragging you away from your rest – um, everything’s cool now so you can go back to your – um, to your plots maybe?” he said hesitantly. The lead zombie who Stiles was pretty sure was Lenora Hale stepped towards him and he cringed back into Peter’s embrace. A skeletal hand reached out and she stroked it down Stiles’ cheek, her red eyes taking in everything about him with a perceptive stare.
“This is my partner, Mother,” Peter spoke from behind him, his tone oddly formal. “As he has demonstrated to you, he is more than worthy – I can only hope that I can live up to his loyalty, steadfastness and strength.”
Lenora looked over Stiles’ shoulder directly at Peter and her face cracked into a smile. Literally cracked – the skin broke, sinews and muscle showing, rotted teeth clinging to decaying gums as she smiled and nodded her approval at the two of them.
“Er, yeah – what he said. He’s my person and – yeah I’d kill for him and shit but we don’t make a big thing of it.”
“Perhaps it’s time that we did,” Peter whispered into his ear and Stiles shivered at the sensation. If there was ever an inappropriate time to get a boner, it was in front of your partner’s zombie mother who you’d forced out of their grave to come and literally dig you out of a jam. Maybe not the best impression but Lenora didn’t seem to hold it against him.
She nodded at them once more before she turned, gesturing to the other zombies with a shooing motion. Stiles watched as they obediently slowly stumbled their way out of the plot and began making their way back to their graves. Using the coffin and the piles of dirt left by the zombies, he and Peter made their way out of the hole to watch as the zombies returned to their rest, the ground settling on top of them until the whole area looked completely undisturbed. Peter moved until he knelt by his mother’s grave, resting his hand on the gravestone before tracing the engraved name with a gentle finger.
“I’m so so sorry – “ Stiles began but Peter leapt to his feet and grabbed Stiles, shaking him slightly before yanking him into another tight embrace. Peter being naked wasn’t helping Stiles with his boner issue but he would be lying if he tried to claim that his grip on Peter wasn’t just a tight.
The hug morphed into a kiss – gentle, searching, reassuring – and Stiles felt the last of his tension leaving his body as he allowed Peter to take his weight. Their kisses weren’t like this – they were raw, powerful, strong with lust – but this, this was something so much more.
“Jesus Christ, Stiles, I love you so fucking much! If something had happened to you – if I had been too late – “
“You love me?” He asked in a small voice and Peter gave a small chuckle.
“It would appear that the only person who didn’t know that was you – and for that, I apologise and swear that for the rest of my life I will ensure that you never doubt that fact again.”
“And Peter – your eyes!! You completed the trials?”
“No – I’ve spent the day trying to find you!”
“But I saw them – they were bright red AND you pushed through a mountain ash barrier!” Stiles argued. “Flash your eyes at me!” he demanded and Peter grimaced, shaking his head. “You’re scared!” Stiles said, realising too late that Peter might have expected to make it through the trials but becoming an alpha like this – no one could have expected that.
“Yeah, I’m scared! This whole thing – it was the Nemeton.”
“The Nemeton?” Stiles replied, stroking his hand soothingly over Peter’s chest.
“It – Alan says it has decided that I am the rightful alpha of Beacon Hills but only if I passed its’ asinine tests. Which apparently were assisting the spark in releasing his powers and unburying the truth.”
“This was all a test?!” Stiles shouted, anger flashing through his veins. Even considering the fact that he had somehow ordered zombies to release him from a grave without knowing just how he’d managed that, the thought that someone or something would put them through something like this as a test made his anger flare.
“Don’t shoot the messenger – I knew nothing about it until Alan told me I had to get to the Preserve and do whatever the Nemeton wanted me to do.”
“You just took his word for it? Ignored your alpha trials and came looking for me?” Stiles said, stunned once more.
“Of course – there was no way I could do the trials whilst you were potentially in danger,” Peter said matter of factly, like it wasn’t one of the most romantic things that anyone had ever done for Stiles.
“What the fuck am I going to do with you?” he finally said and Peter gave a crooked grin, gesturing to his nakedness.
“I have some ideas but I think I prefer our bedroom rather than the family graveyard!”
“I can work with that,” Stiles replied, smiling softly at Peter calling it “their” bedroom. He looked around and spotted the remnants of Peter’s pants hanging from a nearby branch. Leaving Peter’s embrace, he walked over and grabbed them, bringing them back. “Not sure just how much these will cover but at least we don’t have to worry about your wood being attacked by any other wood.”
“No biting zombies near the junk if you please,” Peter said as he accepted the item of clothing and shoved his legs into them. There was barely enough material to cover the essentials but it would do until they could get back to the Hale house – and if Stiles caught enticing glimpses of Peter’s amazing ass as they began to walk out of the graveyard, no one needed to know.
“You’re an alpha – THE alpha of Beacon Hills,” he said into the silence as they made their way through the Preserve. “The Nemeton has claimed you and you’re the alpha now.” Peter turned and grinned at him before nodding. “I’m in love with the Alpha of Beacon Hills,” he said in a wondering tone.
“It would appear so, my sweet. I hope you treat the title with the respect it deserves. And the first – and second – order of business is to get you into training with Deaton so you have control over your spark. I really think I would prefer it if my parents did not physically attend our wedding, darling.” Peter met Stiles’ gaze and flashed his ruby red eyes at him, grinning at the involuntary gasp Stiles let escape.
“I would never – hang on, wedding?!”
