Chapter Text
Peter had lost hope to find his mate many years before, even before the fire he wasn’t sure that there was somebody destined to him, that’s why he accepted his role as Left hand in Talia’s pack. He was the right man for the job: no strings attached aside from his pack, nobody can be abducted or tortured to make him cave. Being the Left hand, doing the dirty job, was only putting his ability to scheme and his ruthlessness to fruition: it was a good way to direct not only his energy but also his rage for not being gifted a mate by the Moon.
When he met Stiles the first time he was just interested in his brilliant mind, in having a beta who wasn’t just a total idiot, but still young enough to be manipulated and directed where he wanted. Despite his initial intention and Stiles heart’s stutter when he declared not to want the bite, Peter let him go. He wasn’t above turning someone against their will, but it was different with Stiles, he had to win him over, biting him wasn’t enough.
Peter examined for days his reaction towards Stiles, the way Stiles’ scent has invaded his nostrils, his brain, his heart. He was growing a sort of affection for the boy, he was feeling a pull towards him, a compulsion to keep him safe: something he had never felt before. It took Peter weeks to eventually understand what it was, to put a finger on what was so special about Stiles, and it was something unexpected: the boy was his mate. The surprise was more connected to Peter’s belief of not having one, than to the actual age gap between them or the fact the Moon has chosen for him a male partner: Peter was swinging both ways, gender wasn’t relevant for him.
Painful weeks of silent observation followed, weeks spent helping Derek and the group of kids gravitating towards him to morph into a Pack. Stiles was supposed to be a satellite of the Pack, but he was becoming the actual gravitational center, helped by his remarkable intelligence and wits. Derek and Scott were awfully protective of Stiles: he was the fragile one, the human, the one who needed to be shielded from other supernatural creatures especially because he was too brave or reckless for his own good. Peter loved that about the boy as much as his wolf hated seeing him in danger. Peter couldn’t count on the pull to affect Stiles and draw him to Peter, as he was no werewolf, he needed a different strategy. For a moment he debated with himself the possibility to share with Derek that Stiles was his mate, but his nephew was so uptight about having an underage partner after his experience with Kate that he discarded it, even though Derek would have been the only one able to understand that Peter would have killed himself before actually hurting Stiles. He needed a different plan.
The opportunity came when one of Peter’s contacts informed him of Deucalion and his Alpha pack coming into the Hale’s territory for some of their wicked business. They knew each other, there was history between them, Peter would have taken the chance to call in for one of the favors he has done him in the past. A quick call, a secret meeting, and the plan was ready to be executed: in a couple of weeks Peter would have had the chance to win his mate over.
During that week pack meeting, Stiles was more nervous and jumpy than usual, Scott plastered at his side trying to ground him, with no results as the only one who could affect Stiles’ behavior would have been Peter, especially with a mate bond but, as said bond wasn’t in place, Peter remained sprawled on the leather couch, a beer in his hand listening to whatever minor inconvenience Derek was up to discuss. Stiles’ restlessness was affecting Peter though: seeing his mate fidgeting and squirming was making his skin crawl. Thirty minutes into that torture Peter stood up, went behind Stiles’ back, his hands fast on Stiles’ shoulder in a secure hold that stilled the boy for a moment.
“Did you take your Adderall this morning?” Peter asked.
“Yes. How do you even know about it?”
“I can smell it, sweetheart.”
Peter squeezed a bit on the boy’s shoulders. “Then I’d suggest to calm down because it’s full of wolves in here and wolves tend to prey on scared jumpy little animals.”
Stiles didn’t register Peter pressing rhythmically his thumbs on the juncture between his neck and shoulder to help him relax, but Derek noticed a change in Peter’s scent: he couldn’t pinpoint the reason, mistaking the satisfaction of being able to help his mate with usual Peter’s amusement in unsettling people.
On the way home Stiles complained about Peter with Scott.
“He’s so fucking creepy, bro. I think I will have to shower twice tonight to cancel the feeling of his hands on my shoulders. Can you smell him?”
“He touched you for less than five minutes, Stiles, no I can’t smell him on you. You smell like yourself, pizza and Pack. That’s all.”
“Phew!”
“I think it was all a tactic to calm you down. He scared you into stillness, lucky for you none of our teachers at school can do that,” Scott laughed.
“Hilarious…you know why I am nervous. That discussion with Deaton about me being a Spark is not easy to handle. Now I have to deal with that too while helping you become a decent werewolf.”
“I already am a decent werewolf!” Scott protested, well-knowing that without Stiles’ support he would have gone down a terrible road after being bitten.
Stiles left Scott home and proceeded to drive to his own, grateful for his dad's late-night shift that would have allowed him to research a bit about Sparks and magic in general. He was glad not to find any scotch glass in the sink, but only the dirty dishes of his dad’s dinner: one thing less to worry about. He dumped his backpack in a corner of his room and turned on his laptop, he was so engrossed in what he was reading that he didn’t notice the faint sound of the window being open or the creaks of a heavy body on his windowsill, he only heard a snark comment “And this should be the smart one, uh…” before having a cloth pressed on his mouth and nose and quickly slipping into darkness.
When Stiles regained consciousness he was in a dark cell, with no openings, without his phone, without his laptop, kidnapped by who knows which creatures: he was scared. After a quick check he realized that nobody had hurt him, he had been left on a bed, there was a table beside him with a bottle of water and there was a toilet half covered by a screen to give him a bit of privacy. He was a prisoner, but it was clear that his kidnappers didn’t have in mind to just harm him. A part of him was wondering if this might be connected with his dad’s job, but this seems too well organized for being a retaliation. This has to be something connected to the supernatural world, but why use him as a target? He didn’t have anything special, he was just a human. No that was incorrect: he was a Spark but, as Deaton said, an untrained Spark was useless, moreover, nobody except Deaton and Scott knew about it.
Stiles’ questions didn’t remain unanswered for long as the door of his cell slammed open and a strange blind guy entered the room followed by a woman with red eyes. Stiles scrambled on the bed, pressing his back on the headrest as to cover his back.
“Welcome Stiles, I’m Deucalion,” the man began “I’m sorry that we meet each other for the first time in these circumstances, but please remain assured that nobody wants to harm you in any way. You are an estimated guest here.”
“I beg to differ,” Stiles replied “If I were an estimated guest I would have been invited here, not kidnapped.”
“As I’ve said this is an unfortunate circumstance, I only want the best for you dear boy.”
The man’s voice gave Stiles the chills: it was sickeningly sweet and even if the man was trying to be civil and polite Stiles wouldn’t have fallen for his lies.
“I want to go home. My dad is the Sheriff and…”
“Your dad and his men won’t find you and if they will come near we will know how to deal with them,” the woman cut him off.
“Kali! You are not here to terrify our guest, but to bring him a gift. Give the book to the boy.” Kali stepped towards Stiles and let a book fall on the bed.
“I hope you will take this as a token of my goodwill, Stiles.” Before Stiles could ask anything else the door was closed again and he was left alone with the book.
Stiles examined the book before opening it: it was an old book, with gold engraving on the front cover, something that couldn’t possibly be found at the local bookstore. He opened it, quickly scanning through the index: it was a book about magic, a book about Sparks. Stiles let it fall on the bed as it was scalding hot.
How could that man know? How?! With his heart beating furiously Stiles took the book in his hands again: creepy man or not there was a huge amount of information he could go through in that book before being rescued. Maybe there was something in there that he could use to get out of there. Stiles was tempted to push away the last thought as it would have been incredibly stupid to give him a book to help him escape, but his father has taught him that usually, all criminals weren’t able to take into account everything or to cover their own traces, so maybe this would have played in his favor.
Stiles read the book for hours until the words stopped making sense, he was going over the same line again and again without understanding, something was missing: his Adderall was missing! Without it, the chances of getting something useful out of that book were close to zero. Stiles cursed his ADHD brain, his bad luck, his inability to focus without support: he curled onto the bed in a fetal position, hugging the pillow: he was lost.
He fought back the tears as crying wouldn’t have helped a single bit, but it was hard considering that, despite the strong facade he was used to wearing for his friends he was still a teenager, a kidnapped teenager scared of not seeing his dad and his friends ever again, terrified of being alone, lost in his mind. Sleep crept upon him as a welcomed break from his hyperactive brain, but his fears kept on haunting his dreams making him trash in the bedsheets.
When Stiles woke up, he was soaked in sweat on the verge of a panic attack. The room was spinning around him, the walls were getting closer and closer, he had the feeling that the air wasn’t reaching his lungs as his chest was constricting painfully. All of a sudden the door of his cell swung open and a man as big as a mountain walked in, grabbed him by an arm, and jabbed him with a needle. Stiles blacked out almost instantly.
In another room, looking at a screen Kali commented “He seems very fragile to be a Spark, are you sure he is one, Deucalion?”
“Don’t judge a book by its cover. The boy is terrified, without his meds and the whole kidnapping experience must have shaken him up. Give him some time: if Peter wants him it means that he’s special. Hale is a man of impeccable taste.”