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Stiles doesn’t mean for it to become a thing. Really, he doesn’t. He’s just…curious.
He’d started noticing that Peter is…oddly accommodating, when it comes to Stiles. And only to Stiles. He’ll refuse Derek no problem, even though he’s both Peter’s alpha and nephew. The betas, if they dared to ask him for anything, get a withering glare and scathing remark that has them scurrying away to do whatever it was they’d asked of him (or, in Scott’s case, stomping out with a resentful scowl).
Stiles though, he’d get an insult or question of whether he had the capability of a toddler, but he’d still do it. And there was never any real heat behind the words. Stiles didn’t think any of the others had noticed yet, since they tried to spend as little time around Peter as possible. But he did.
When Stiles realises that Peter seems to be more willing to do things for him than anyone else, he decides to perform a little experiment. He wants to see exactly where the line stands between what he could and couldn’t get Peter to do.
The results are…unexpected.
“Hey Peter, can you grab me a glass of water?”
Peter glances over to where Stiles is sprawled on the couch in the loft, in the middle of a study session with the other pack teens. Presumably Peter had been skulking about in his room (honestly, Stiles hadn’t even realised he was there), but he’d come down to get something from the kitchen.
“You have two legs, and I do believe they work. Get it yourself.”
“Yeah, but you’re already on your way to the kitchen.”
Peter rolls his eyes and continues on his way to the kitchen. Stiles assumes that’s that, he has his answer, and returns to his textbook.
The next time he looks up from his notes, there’s an ice cold glass of water on the table next to him.
Peter and Stiles are researching the latest threat to their lives (Seriously, Stiles has an English test next week, can’t they get a break for like one week? Just one. That’s all he’s asking), and Stiles has two books plus his laptop open in front of him as he cross-references his findings.
“Hey, pass me that book, would you? I think I found something.” Stiles motions to a book at the end of the table without looking up from his notes. Peter squints at him for a moment.
“I’m sitting across from you. The book is literally the exact same distance from me as it is from you.”
Stiles says nothing, just continues to hold out his hand. Peter sighs and passes him the book.
“Hey, hand me the–”
Peter sets the topographical map of Beacon Hills in his hand without looking up from his work. Stiles blinks at it for a moment, glances at Peter, and then spreads it out to look for places a cockatrice might be able to hide.
When Peter moved out of the loft and into his own apartment (a change that took almost 3 weeks for the betas to notice), Stiles did what he always does and made a copy of his keys, including a swipe card for the building.
(Of course, no one in the pack knows that he has a key to every single one of their homes on top of every potentially relevant and/or useful building in town. He only reveals keys when they become necessary, and he’s pretty sure they’ve all mutually decided not to ask any questions. He thinks this is a smart choice.)
“Stiles?” The look of confusion when Peter opens the door to his apartment is wonderful. Peter glances around the hall. “How did you get into my building? How do you even know where I live?”
“All excellent questions, Creeperwolf,” Stiles says happily as he slips under Peter’s arm and into the apartment. He looks around curiously while waiting to see how Peter will react.
“But none you’re going to answer?” Peter drawls as he closes the door. His expression is a mixture of amused resignation as he crosses his arms. Stiles does love getting that response. He grins brightly.
“You know me well! I need a book.”
Peter sighs and rolls his eyes. “Of course you do. Which one?”
“Peter! I need two ounces of hoof shavings from a griffin and 3 grams of powdered unicorn horn, both ethically sourced!”
“...Stiles, do you have any idea how rare those ingredients are? What makes you think I could possibly procure either of those for you?” Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever heard Peter sound so incredulous.
“Because you’re Peter Hale! I know you had all sorts of contacts before the fire and I’m positive you’ve reconnected to at least some of them since you’ve been awake and sane again. There’s no way you don’t have access to a whole network of shady people to get your hands on whatever you want.”
“Even if that were true, why on earth would I make use of that for you?”
“Because it’s for the pack! And because I won’t tell you why I need them if you don’t. Now, can you do it, or is this too much for even the great Peter Hale to manage?”
“Of course I can do it!”
“Well, hop to it Creeperwolf!”
Peter growls and hangs up the phone.
When Stiles gets home from school two days later, there’s a pair of glass vials sitting on his desk. Stiles stares at them for almost ten minutes.
He thought it would take a week for Peter to even locate those, let alone actually have them in hand. Damn that man works fast.
It all comes to a head on Stiles’s birthday. Peter hadn’t attended the party the pack threw for him – in fact, no one had seen him in weeks, and he was barely answering any of Stiles’s messages. Stiles tried not to be bothered by it, but he was failing. Luckily, the pack kept him very busy all day and didn’t leave him much time to dwell.
When he finally slumps into his bedroom at half-past one in the morning, he’s ready to face plant on his bed and sleep for twelve hours straight. However, the sight of a neatly wrapped package sitting atop his pillow makes him pause.
It’s clearly another birthday present, wrapped in shiny silver paper with a large red bow on top. When Stiles picks it up there’s no card or label or even a name on it, but there’s only one person he hadn’t already received a gift from that might have left this in his room rather than give it to him in person. He opens it with trembling fingers.
As soon as the paper parts enough to get a glimpse at what’s inside, Stiles’s legs give out. Thankfully he’s right next to the bed and simply lands with a light bounce, but he’s too busy staring in shock at the cover of the book in his hands to notice.
How did he even…? Stiles hadn’t asked Peter for this. He hadn’t even brought it up with the wolf. Stiles searches through his memory for how Peter might have even known about it, and remembers speaking to Scott about it at the loft a few months ago. Damned Creeperwolf must have been lurking around somewhere out of sight.
He’d been telling Scott about this book he’d heard rumors of that a few of his oldest research sources made reference to. “What I wouldn’t do to get my hands on that book,” he’d said. But no one knew where it was, or if it’d ever even existed to begin with. There were rumours of course, claims popping up here or there every decade or so that someone had seen it or claimed to own it, but nothing was ever proven.
And now here it is. In Stiles’s hands. After he mentioned it, one time, months ago. To someone else.
Stiles dials the familiar number with numb fingers.
“Ah, hello Stiles. Just getting in from your birthday festivities? I’m sure—”
“Are you ever going to actually ask to officially court me?” Stiles interrupts. “Because this is getting ridiculous!”
There’s a very weighted pause on the other end of the line.
“You know that I’ve been courting you?!”
“I’ve known for months! Now get over here and kiss me, you doofus!”
And Peter does.
Bonus (*at the next pack meeting*)
“Wait, you knew he was courting you?!”
“Of course I knew! I may be human, but I’m the only person who isn’t also a born werewolf that actually does any research around here!”
“Hey!”
“Sorry; Lydia and Kira do as well – but, to be fair Lydia, I do tend to be the only one that does research on topics that aren’t currently relevant to the pack.”
“...I will accept that caveat.”