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1.
Beacon Hills wasn’t exactly Mayberry, but it was definitely small enough that gossip got around--especially when it was intentionally being spread. And Talia Hale was not quiet about letting anyone and everyone know about how her daughter, her darling precious talented and beautiful daughter had a meeting with a record label.
Stiles didn’t really understand what that meant as a seven-year-old, but his mom explained that it meant that maybe Laura Hale would start making music that would be on the radio. That was exciting. Stiles didn’t know anyone on the radio, and Laura was a good singer. She sang at the high school football games on Fridays, and she had sang three whole songs at the Strawberry Festival last summer.
So Laura was going to meet with these record people and then she was going to be on the radio.
But it had been a week since the meeting and now none of the Hales were saying anything about the meeting at all. Not Laura or Talia or even Cora at school when Stiles had asked. Cora had screamed at him to shut up and pushed him into the monkey bars. Which, while not the first time he had been yelled at or hit by the other kids, seemed like a bit of an overreaction.
After school, when his mom picked him, Stiles blurted out what had happened. His mom just sighed and said they could go get a cookie from Mrs. Carpenter’s bakery on the way home. The bakery always smelled like vanilla and was warm from the ovens. It was one of Stiles’ favorite places.
While snacking on his newly acquired sugar cookie, Stiles heard Mrs. Carpenter whispering to his mom. She said, “They said to give Laura a few more years. But they offered one to Peter. Talia’s pissed. I heard she hasn’t spoken to him in days. That none of the family are talking to him.”
“Why is she so mad at Peter?” his mom asked.
“She thinks he stole the deal right out from under Laura.”
“Did he?”
Mrs. Carpenter shrugged.
***
2.
It was his thirty-second birthday.
And he was at a concert--not his own, mind. Peter had long ago worked it out so he wouldn’t have to do a show on his birthday.
No, he was at a concert for The True. He’d heard about them--kids from his hometown who had just gotten a record deal with AMG. Part of him wanted to warn them, wanted to scare them off the path of music. But mostly he just wanted to see how good they really were.
Their opener was alright, but nothing to write home about. He definitely wouldn’t go out of his way to listen to them again.
And then they came out on stage--3 guys and 2 girls. They looked young, but older than he was when he got his record deal. Maybe twenty or twenty-one. They probably weren’t all old enough to drink alcohol at this club.
The little redhead sat at the drums and yelled out a count before all at once the music rose.
And, okay.
It didn’t take long before Peter understood the appeal. It was catchy without being clichéd. They could play their instruments--no one overpowering the other. The singers’ voices blended well. The songs were good. Peter had never heard any of them, but there were a few he wanted to hear again. They were high energy and had the crowd eating out of the palm of their hand, and then they dropped it down with a ballad or two, before pulling it back up and getting everyone back into it.
They could go far.
If Argent didn’t screw them over first.
***
3.
Holy shit.
Not only was the band going to the MTV VMAs, not only were they nominated, they were going to be performing.
Holy shit. It seemed so fake.
Last year they been in college and performing at local clubs and trying to rally up interest. And now, now they had a record deal and top ten hit and a VMA nomination and tour and merch and
And
And
He was the kid on the radio now. Him and Scotty and Allison and Lydia and Jackson. He got to make music with his best friends. This was what he had been dreaming about forever.
Stiles oscillated between serene gratitude and paranoid anxiety as the days drew closer to the VMAs. There were suit fittings and meetings and rehearsals. Were they going to match their clothes or coordinate or do a free for all? Should they perform the song currently at the top of the charts or their newest single? Should they do a cover instead? There was also a fresh round of media training.
For some reason, management hated it when he talked and he had gotten sent through media training more times than all the others combined. But whatever. Who cared? Nothing was going to get in the way of his good mood. Stiles was going to the VMAs.
They all got ready at Allison’s house on the day of. Scott practically lived there anyway. And Lydia said it had enough bathrooms and bedrooms that all of their make artists and stylists wouldn’t be stepping all over each other trying to get them ready. It took hours longer to get ready than Stiles thought it should, but he was getting used to the way he had to be beautified from time to time.
For the red carpet, Stiles and the other guys were going pretty traditional--black suits--and the girls both had shimmery, glittery black dresses. Their exciting outfits were for the stage. They were going with bold colors and more skin showing. Lydia’s dress was so short that he was worried about how she’d be able to play the drums without flashing everyone, but she just rolled her eyes when he asked.
The red carpet was long. And not nearly as fun as it looked on TV.
And he was jittery, sitting through the ceremony waiting for their performance. When it was finally time to go backstage and get changed into their second outfits, Stiles couldn’t stop moving. He felt nervous--way more nervous than he did when they were touring. Maybe because they were playing for their peers and not just for fans? He wanted to prove to everyone that they were good, that they deserved this, that they deserved to be here.
Performing was four minutes of a chaotic high. It’s good. It’s always so good.
Why was he worried?
They come off stage and crash on a big couch. They are handed water bottles to chug, while they watch the next award being announced. Allison curls into Scott’s side. And Jackson wraps his arm around Lydia, who is grinning wildly.
“Peter Hale!”
Stiles’ head jerks toward the stage and watches Peter Hale walk up to receive his award. If he was in a full suit at the beginning of the night, that had changed by now. His dress shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and the top few buttons hung open.
As he ended his speech, Peter headed offstage. Toward Stiles. And the rest of the band too.
Peter met his eyes and winked, and Stiles felt his jaw drop. How dare he be that attractive. Peter smiled and looked like he might approach them, but then Stiles lost eye contact as Scott bumped his shoulder.
“What, Scotty?”
“Our category is up. Look alive. The cameras are on us.”
They didn’t win. And he didn’t meet Peter Hale. But the night still felt like a win.
***
4.
He had to get out of Belize.
He had to not be in the same country. Not on the same continent, if possible. He needed to leave now. It wasn’t so much a conscious decision as a necessity.
Fight or flight.
And he had spent so long fighting. All his fight was gone.
So running away.
They didn’t want him here. He didn’t want to be here. Fuck them.
Fuck Jackson. Fuck Lydia. Fuck Allison. Fuck Scott. Fuck the fucking band and the fucking label and the fucking world tour. Fuck writing another album.
He was done.
And he only felt a little twinge of guilt as he booked the flight to Oslo. He hated disappointing the people who had paid for tickets and expected to see the concert. He wondered what they would do with him gone. But Stiles realized that it wasn’t his responsibility. He was gone either way.
It’s not like if he showed up at the arena, the others would let him go up on stage and perform. The label and management were involved now. A whole army of lawyers and bodyguards were probably camped out to prevent him from getting too close.
Stiles called his dad once he was checked in at the airport. He answered on the second ring.
“Stiles, are you okay?”
He gulped. “Not really.”
“Why did the band just post something saying you are quitting?”
“They said what!?” A few heads turned his way, and Stiles ducked his head, pulling his hoodie down as he walked toward the first class lounge. “I didn’t quit. They took a vote and said they wanted me out.”
“Jesus, kid.”
“I’m at the airport. I’m flying out soon. I...I can’t go back to Beacon Hills. Everyone knows me there. Everyone will be looking for me. And we were supposed to have that documentary thing after this tour and so they’ll all be going home and I can’t stand to see them. I...god, I hate them all so much right now.”
Stiles could hear his dad sigh, and in his mind picture the exact face he was making. He missed him so much. He wished he could see him, could hug him, could hide in his bed forever. His dad would make it better. He always made it better. “Whatever you need. Call me when you land. And whenever you find somewhere to settle for a few weeks, I’m coming to see you. Promise me.”
“Promise. I love you, dad.”
“I love you too, kid. It’ll all work out eventually.”
The first flight he sat in silence the entire time. The chaos of Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport kept him both from being noticed and from getting lost in his own head. On the second flight to Amsterdam, he tried to sleep but woke up every half hour crankier than before. He finally gave up after the fourth attempt and decided to watch something.
He had been avoiding listening to any music--something soured in his stomach every time he even considered listening to one of his carefully curated playlists--but Stiles figured he can stand a movie.
Stupid him.
He selected Satomi Ito’s newest film and as soon as it started he remembered that Peter Hale worked on this. That he wrote the whole soundtrack and it had gotten him an Oscar and now he was halfway to an EGOT.
His finger anxiously tapped the edge of the screen trying to decide if he wanted to shut if off and put on some mindless action movie. There had to be something with cars and guns and explosions to watch. But he didn’t. Stiles kept watching. Kept listening.
It hurt, but it was almost cathartic. The music was beautiful.
It had been a few years since he’d listened to something of Peter’s; he’d been too wrapped up tour and writing and go go go more more more. This was good though. He deserved to win.
As Stiles got on his last plane in Amsterdam to Oslo, he thought about reaching out to Peter--through industry contacts or Beacon Hills gossip tree--and telling him that, but he decided against it.
***
5.
Peter heard about it the way most people did: Twitter.
The band’s announcement that Stiles was leaving got hundreds of thousands of retweets and started a trending topic where fans began wailing and crying. It was all very dramatic.
Within a week, all of the remaining members have made a statement--even if some seem more media controlled than others--but Stiles still hadn’t said anything. And the press were having a field day trying to find him.
Once they figured out he wasn’t in Beacon Hills (and several paparazzo had been arrested by the local sheriff’s department), there’s an almost predatory search for the boy. Young man. They traced him to Europe, but he was gone before anyone can get a picture or ask questions. He hid out in Thailand for a few months, which Peter only knew about because some trashy tabloid tracked him down.
About six months after the announcement, the fervor died down. And Stiles stayed missing mostly. Quiet, at least.
He wasn’t selling his story to the highest bidder at any rate.
Peter had heard some of what happened and he’s not sure if he would have been so generous if he’d been in the same place. But he doesn’t grudge Stiles his silence. He knew what it was like to have people you love turn on you. If Laura had ever gotten over her temper tantrum and signed a record deal, Peter probably would have been quiet about their unpleasantness.
And he hadn’t said a word about the Argents since the court case. The NDA was only partially responsible for that. Most of that was for Derek’s sake.
So yeah, Peter understood shutting up when needed. But he bet Stiles had lots he wanted to say. And Peter found himself curious about what Stiles would say. Would do.