A/N: Unlike my other Steter fanfic, Tied to Nothing, this is supposed to be fun. It shouldn't get too dark or angsty. Also, there will be tons of character bashing because the show has left me with unresolved issues with everyone. But it will mostly be joking. Mostly.


If someone had told Stiles six months ago that his best friend would be bitten by a werewolf, he probably would've been a little skeptical, but willing to see some proof. If that same person had told him that his best friend being bitten by a werewolf would lead to Stiles being ignored, pushed around, kidnapped, and beaten, he would've rolled his eyes and told that person to move along. Because him and Scott were bros, right? And bros don't treat each other that way or let other people treat their bros that way.

However, no one had thought to give Stiles any such warning and now here he was. Post-kidnapping. A kidnapping that he had rescued himself from after some old guy, who turned out to be working with his bro Scott, kicked his ass, by the way. For no good reason.

Here he was, post-kidnapping, watching the girl he had thought was the love of his life use her love to turn her ex-boyfriend from murdering lizard to soft cuddly werewolf.

Here he was, post-kidnapping, watching this with his ex-bro, his ex-bro's ex-girlfriend, his ex-bro's ex-girlfriend's dad, the broodiest Alpha, and broody Alpha's previously-dead creeper uncle.

Seriously.

What. The. Fuck.

Thankfully, his jeep seemed to have survived the night because he needed a way home. Now. He was so fucking done with all the supernatural bullshit that always seemed to come with a side of 'screw Stiles over'. The next time something like this came up, Stiles was staying the hell away from it. It'd be better for him in the long run.

Stiles was so focused on being done with this shit that he didn't notice everyone had made their way out of the abandoned warehouse until he was left alone. All he had for company now was his own fast-paced thoughts.

"Figures," Stiles muttered to himself, climbing into his jeep and slamming the door. "Stiles Stilinski- there when you need something from me, ignored when you don't."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that."

"Oh, my God!" Stiles yelped, jerking around. There in the backseat, watching him in amusement, was Peter Zombie-Wolf Hale. "Why are you back there?! You're supposed to be dead, not in my car!"

Peter shrugged nonchalantly, waving a hand around. "Perhaps. But I missed you."

A high-pitched, hysterical giggle burst out of Stiles as he brought his hands up to cover his face. "I don't need your fancy wolf lie detector to know that's bullshit."

"You mean you didn't miss me at all?" Peter asked, his voice petulant and holy fuck was he pouting?!

Sobering a little at the memories of Peter and how things had been relatively easy with him as the Alpha, Stiles couldn't stop himself from nodding. "Yeah, I guess I did."

"Interesting," Peter remarked in the same tone. He leaned forward, bracing an arm against the passenger seat as he took over Stiles's personal space. Supernaturally blue eyes locked on human amber, pupils dilating as their gazes held. After a few quiet minutes, Peter caught Stiles's scent and smirked. It was the usual mix of electricity and rain, with the new spice of Stiles's arousal. Apparently, coming face-to-face with most people's worst nightmare was what got Stiles hot and bothered. "Interesting."

Stiles wrinkled his nose at the deepening of Peter's voice before flushing deeply and looking away, embarrassed. "Oh, shut up. It's nothing."

"It's flattering," Peter corrected, running his free hand down Stiles's warm cheek softly. "Also, mutual."

Groaning tiredly, Stiles shook his head and moved to start up the jeep. "I so do not have the energy for this."

"You don't have energy?" Peter questioned disbelievingly. He watched Stiles as he maneuvered the jeep out of the warehouse and onto the highway to make his way home before speaking again. "You used to have endless energy. What happened while I was gone to make you so tired?"

A dull, half-hearted twinge of anger caused Stiles to tighten his fingers around the steering wheel. "You weren't gone, Peter. You were dead. You were dead and everyone else was left behind to clean up your mess. Interestingly enough, no one wanted to pick up the pieces. Not even Derek."

"It was you then," Peter concluded, his voice quiet. "I had wondered when I got back and your father caught me in the supermarket. He didn't even blink before asking me about the doctors in Switzerland. I must admit, I was caught a little off guard."

"Well, I couldn't say you were dead or kidnapped. They would have been looking for you or your body," Stiles answered, keeping all his focus on the road in front of him. "I think I knew, somehow."

"Knew what?" Peter asked, raising on eyebrow.

"That you would come back," Stiles replied quietly. "Or maybe I just hoped."

Peter looked at Stiles skeptically. "You hoped I would come back from the dead so badly that you made sure I would be able to slip back into my life when I did, unassisted."

Snorting loudly, Stiles shook his head and said bitterly, "You don't know what Derek is like as the Alpha. Besides, I didn't do it by myself; I had help."

"I can't imagine a single person who would help you create a life for a dead man," the werewolf said honestly, ignoring the slight against his nephew.

"His name is Danny Mahealani and he is an absolute wizard when it comes to computers," Stiles said, his voice sincere. "All it took was a few answers about what was going on in this hellhole."

"I'm impressed," Peter replied truthfully. "And grateful. It's made coming back from the dead easier than anticipated."

He couldn't tell if Stiles shrugged due to the shoulder movements needed to manipulate his behemoth of a vehicle into the driveway, but assumed he had when Stiles's scent went flat with indifference. Carefully climbing out of the jeep, Peter followed Stiles into his house, quietly matching his steps until they were in Stiles's bedroom.

Stiles ignored his werewolf stalker and sat at his desk, booting up his laptop. Forget all the supernatural bullshit, he had an essay due for his English class next week and no idea where to start.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" Peter asked, his voice curious. "I thought you said that you were tired."

"I am exhausted," Stiles admitted. "But sleep doesn't come easy when your mind is in overdrive because you're constantly terrified that you're going to wake up to an angry werewolf or a sadistic old man."

"Derek and Gerard," Peter stated harshly, his eyes wide in surprise. When Stiles nodded, Peter came forward to pull him out of his chair and carried him to the bed, his werewolf strength ensuring that he didn't have to strain under Stiles's weight.

It was slightly uncomfortable for Stiles, who had never had anyone put him to bed before. Was Peter taking off his shoes? Stiles wiggled a bit in protest when he felt Peter's hands go up his legs from his feet to his waist. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sure you'd be more comfortable out of your jeans," Peter answered as he carefully pulled Stiles's pants down and off. "There's probably not anybody who enjoys sleeping in their clothes."

"Stripped many people then?" Stiles asked, his voice muffled as Peter pulled his shirt over his head. "Besides, I already told you that I can't sleep."

"You will because I'm going to look after you," Peter commanded gently, resting lightly on the bed beside Stiles. "Nothing is going to hurt you while I'm around."

Stiles hummed a little before giving up and moving closer to Peter, carefully laying his head on Peter's chest. He was quiet when he spoke next. "You're so nice for a psychotic mass murdering werewolf. Why is that?"

"I'm only this nice to you," Peter said honestly. "You are so special, Stiles, and it amazes me every time someone fails to notice that. How Derek doesn't notice angers me because his entire pack takes advantage of you when they should practically be worshiping you."

"That's flattering," Stiles replied dryly, Peter's steady heartbeat thumping underneath Stiles's ear where it was pressed against Peter's chest. "Especially since you truly believe that. Why?"

"Sleep, Stiles. We'll talk about it later," Peter commanded.

"Alright, alright," Stiles agreed, closing his eyes and snuggling closer. "Goodnight, Zombie-Wolf."

-x-

Shockingly enough, Stiles actually slept the entire night without even a fragment of a dream. When he woke up, he was even in the exact position he'd been in when he fell asleep- something that had never before happened in his life. It was obviously the result of some werewolf magic, seeing as Peter was still lying beside him docilely. In fact, the room was so calm that Stiles was confused as to why he had woken. That is, until the loud knocking of his father punched through the silence.

"Stiles, you in there?"

"Yeah, Dad," Stiles called back, inwardly panicking at the idea that, at any moment, his dad could open his bedroom door and see him in bed with Peter Hale. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to check on you before I headed out," his dad answered, hesitating a bit.

Sitting up, Stiles rolled his eyes at Peter who was watching him in amusement. The werewolf rolled out of bed gracefully, brushing his hands down his body as if to knock invisible wrinkles from his clothes. It was at this moment that Stiles remembered he was practically naked. A heavy flush covered his cheeks and he glared at Peter when the man silently laughed at his embarrassment.

"I'm fine, Dad," Stiles replied loudly, skittering around his room to pull on some clothes, ignoring the attentive gaze following his every move. If Peter thought getting dressed was something Stiles did attractively, then so be it. He had bigger things to worry about right now.

"Alright," his dad sighed. "I'm gone then. I love you, son."

Oh, look at that. A wild lump appeared in Stiles's throat. It had been a while since he'd heard his dad say that, mainly because he wasn't very touchy-feely, and he knew that he was only saying it now because Stiles had mysteriously disappeared for a few hours only to turn up with strange bruises and a weak excuse, but it meant a lot to him anyway. Stiles cleared his throat roughly, choking out a response. "Yeah, Dad. Love you, too."

There was a short pause before Stiles heard his dad's footsteps shuffle down the stairs. He slumped weakly, the hoodie he'd grabbed from his desk chair falling out of his hands as he brought them up to rub frantically across his face.

"He's worried about you," Peter said quietly from where he was sitting on the edge of Stiles's bed. "There's a lot of negative emotions in his scent. Does he always drink so much?"

The lump in Stiles's throat grew larger. Sighing sadly, he crossed his arms over his chest tightly and turned to face his favorite creeper. "He did for a while, after Mom died, but he slowed down eventually. He's probably started drinking heavier again because of me."

Peter quirked an eyebrow. "Because of you? What do you mean?"

Stiles shrugged weakly, keeping his eyes down. "Ever since Scott got bit, it's been lie after lie and he knows I'm lying but can't figure out why. I mean, I've always been nosy and a bit of a troublemaker but this past year he's caught me at multiple crime scenes, with several suspicious people, and now I have a restraining order against me. For God's sake, he lost his job because of me. And it all started because I couldn't keep my nose out of things. I don't even know why I constantly find myself knee deep in this bullshit. I have nothing to do with it."

"Nothing?" Peter questioned, a little uncomfortable with the emotionality in Stiles's voice. He knew it was only because of the great love Stiles had for his father but after nearly seven years without love like that, Peter didn't really know what to do with it. Instead, he focused on what he did know how to take care of. "I can assure you, you most certainly are."

Dark freckles twitched as Stiles's face contorted in resignation. "You gotta be kidding me."

Shaking his head, Peter replied, "You are so important, Stiles. I know that, for some strange reason, you don't believe that you're even really part of Derek's pack but you are, in fact, second in importance only to the Alpha."

"Oh, yeah? And why is that?" Stiles asked bitingly. "What makes me so special?"

"The emissary of a werewolf pack is always special, Stiles."


A/N: Dun dun duuun. I'm not playing around with this story. It's pure first draft work. I thought it, I wrote it, I posted it. I hope you enjoyed it. Please review!

~S.