Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stiles is six, and his mama and daddy have been having a bunch of whispery conversations lately. His mama forgets how to do things sometimes, or sometimes she does something over and over. And she’s eating a lot, even stuff like cake and cookies that he isn’t allowed to eat! And...and sometimes she takes his food. And he is pretty sure that she’s had to go to the doctor. She has bandaids on her arm. But any time he asks Mama or Daddy, they just smile at him and say nothing’s wrong!

Today he pitched a fit. He isn’t really sure why, he’s—he’s just—something is wrong and they won’t tell him what and he couldn’t handle it anymore. Mama sent him to his room, but he waited until she wasn’t paying attention and snuck out the back door. Sometimes Mama and Daddy fight, and one of them leaves and the other one tells Stiles that they just need space for a little bit. He thinks maybe that’s what he needs. Besides, he hasn’t gotten to play outside in a really long time, and he misses the forest. Maybe he can pretend to be Max, King of the Wild Things! Mama used to read him that book all the time, but lately she hasn’t been able to read to him.

~

Peter is a long suffering fifteen year old babysitter to his sister Talia’s youngest daughter, six year old Cora, and has read Where the Wild Things Are to her multiple times. Sometimes her older brother Derek would sneak in. At twelve he is, ‘much too old to have books read to me, Uncle Peter!’ but he still would sit quietly on the floor for Cora’s bedtime and listen. Laura, his sister’s oldest child at fourteen and heir apparent to the Alpha spark, is obnoxiously too busy being trained to be Alpha to do anything involving her siblings or her uncle.

Cora is a ferocious young werewolf and definitely his favorite of the children, so she asks to go outside and play chase. He obliges, because anything that may tire her out and make bedtime come faster is an excellent idea. They go out into the forest, he counts to ten to give her a head start, and then starts chasing her, roaring terrible roars and flashing his terrible eyes, making sure to keep just far enough back that she thinks she is winning, while she runs in front of him giggling madly.

~

Stiles is wandering through the forest, wondering how exactly he can be Max when there are no terrible Wild Things out here for him to be king of, when he hears it—a terrible roar. He stops, eyes wide, because all of a sudden meeting a Wild Thing doesn’t seem like the greatest idea, but then he hears someone laughing too, and the roars don’t seem that terrible, surely...maybe it’s someone else playing too! He can join in!

Stiles takes a deep breath and heads quietly in the direction of the noise, then hides behind a tree when it sounds like the noise is close. He peeks out to make sure the noise is coming from people and not real Wild Things, and is reassured to see a girl his size laughing while being chased by a bigger boy, obviously pretending he is a monster about to catch her. He waits until she runs past him, then jumps out from his tree, staring the bigger boy in his flashing yellow eyes and says fiercely, “Be still!”, his heart hammering. Hopefully these kids will let him play too.

~

Peter stumbles to a stop, hurriedly returning his eyes to their human blue. Cora stops on the other side of the boy that just appeared out of nowhere, looking back at him with wide eyes—no one ever bosses Uncle Peter around.

And then Peter realizes what the boy said, and smiles. “You must be Max, if you are brave enough to jump in front of a Wild Thing.”

Stiles beams back at him, excited that the older boy is going to play along. “Yes!”

Cora starts giggling again, happy that she now has someone else to be a Wild Thing with.

And thus Stiles started his play dates with baby werewolf Cora and watchful werewolf Peter.

~

As time goes on, Peter becomes a little concerned. Sometimes Stiles comes out, and he is a little dirty. Not like he fell in a puddle on the way, though that often happens—the boy is far from graceful—but like perhaps he hasn’t had a bath in a few days. Sometimes his belly rumbles, like maybe he didn’t get enough to eat, or maybe didn’t get a meal at all. He never has bruises—or at least, none that wouldn’t be normal for a small clumsy human—but still. There is something wrong, only more obvious by the fact that he is allowed into the forest alone. After a month of playing almost daily in the forest, Peter decides he is going to find out what is going on.

“I have to go home now. It’s supper time,” announces Stiles at the same time as he always does. Peter would love to know how the boy keeps such good time without a watch.

"Not so fast! I need to see who is at home, I don’t want to get in trouble for stealing the king all the time!" Peter says, snatching Stiles up in his arms and walking briskly in the direction the boy’s scent comes from.

Cora follows, laughing. "Are you going to eat him up uncle Peter? Or just roar your terrible roar? "

“Neither, I just want to know the people that King Max loves best of all.”

Stiles wriggles a bit, complaining, but his scent is filled with a bit more happiness than is usual when it comes time for him to go home.

Peter is a bit...unnerved when he arrives to a house that smells of the boy at the same time as a man in a deputy’s uniform, who looks distinctly unimpressed with the stranger carrying his son, but doesn’t show it. “Hello,” Peter says, tossing Stiles over his shoulder to offer the man his hand to shake. “My name is Peter Hale. You must be Stiles’ father.”

“Yes, I am. John Stilinksi. And how do you know my son, Peter?” the man asks, looking Peter up and down.

“I’ve told you and Mama about Peter and Cora, Daddy!” Stiles pops in from over Peter’s shoulder, twisting himself around to drape around the man’s neck like a scarf. “They are the Wild Things I’m king of in the forest!”

“The Wild Things you—you were actually in the forest?!” John says quickly, then hurried up the walk to his house, ducking in the front door. “Claudia!” Peter follows, bemused. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but this wasn’t it. Stiles had insisted over and over that he had told his parents he was playing with them in the forest, and his heart never skipped a beat, but Peter had never imagined that the boy’s parents just didn’t believe him. Not sure of what to do next, he stops just inside the door, Stiles still around his shoulders and Cora by his legs.

Peter breathes delicately, trying to parse out some of the scents in the home in hope that he could perhaps unravel some of the mystery now before him. John comes down the stairs, rubbing a hand over his head and sighing deeply. “I’m sorry about this Peter. Stiles, why don’t you show—Cara, was it?—your room while I talk to Peter.”

“Her name’s Cora, Daddy, I’ve told you about her a bajillion times,” Stiles pouts and he slides off Peter’s shoulder feet first, Peter bracing him absentmindedly as this wasn’t the first time stiles had done so. “Come on Cora, I can show you my Batman toys!” and the two children go up the stairs.

Peter and John look at each other for a moment, then John gestures towards a room. “Have a seat in the kitchen and I’ll explain.”

Peter goes into the kitchen and sits at the table, watching while John bustles around, putting up a few dishes from the drainer, throwing away wrappers from what looked like a massive number of snack cakes, and replies with a quiet, “No, thank you,” to John’s brusque offer of a drink. Finally, with nothing left for John to busy himself with, he sits down at the table and sighs, resting his head in his hands before looking up at Peter.

“How old are you son? And how long have you been watching Stiles?”

Peter stiffens a bit, not sure what John is trying to imply, and answers. “Fifteen, sir. And he started coming into the forest to play about a month ago. I became concerned when he never had parents with him, although he insisted that he told you what he was doing. I was also worried because sometimes it seems like he hasn’t been bathed or fed.”

“Aw, crap. I wasn’t try to accuse you of anything. It’s just—he said he was playing with his friends the Wild Things! Of course I thought he was pretending in his room, especially when Claudia said he is always in there!”

“Claudia?” Peter asks, slightly mollified.

John sighs again. “My wife. I—I am going to explain, but I’m not sure how much of this you’ll understand. I’m not sure how much I understand to be honest, and I’m living through it.” The deputy abruptly looks exhausted.

“Claudia has frontotemporal dementia, which is similar to Alzheimer’s. And also not at all alike. It causes her to forget how to do complex tasks, and makes her fixated on doing others. It makes her binge eat, including things that aren’t good for her—like snack cakes—and can include snatching food from others, which I am going to guess has happened with Stiles. I’ve asked and asked him if his mama is feeding him, and he keeps telling me yes... It doesn’t make her forget, exactly, but it can cause her actions to become strange. She is starting to have difficulty reading, and there are some other symptoms that we are basically just waiting to start. There’s no cure, and any pills to manage her symptoms can make things worse. She has anywhere from a year to fifteen years to live, and we really have no idea what is going to happen,” John reels off the facts of Claudia’s condition in a blank tone, staring unseeing across the table.

Peter sits, shocked. This was not at all what he had been expecting. He had thought maybe there were slightly neglectful parents, not—not tragedy. He was not the person best suited to offer comfort. He stands up and walks to stand beside John, resting a hand on his shoulder. He has no idea what to say, but he can offer this, the knowledge that now John doesn’t have to bear the burden alone, without anyone else knowing. He takes a deep breath.

“I would be happy to watch Stiles every day, if you like. I watch Cora every day, and Stiles comes to play frequently anyway. It wouldn’t be an issue. You could drop him at our house in the morning when you go to work and I could walk him home for supper. That way you could be assured he ate. We can revisit the arrangement when school starts, but he could ride the bus with Cora to our house and you could pick him up when you get off if you like.

“However... I think you need to tell him. At least something. He already knows there is something wrong. Stiles already told me that he thinks his mama is sick but it’s a secret.”

“Thank you for offering Peter, but I think I would need to talk to your parents before taking you up on that offer.” John scrubs his hands over his face. “I know we have to tell him something, but I have no idea what...and this isn’t your problem, Christ.”

Peter rolls his eyes, secure in the knowledge that John cannot see him. “My parents are dead, you would want to talk to my sister Talia, Cora’s mother. Allow me to offer another suggestion. Talk to your doctor. They should be able to recommend a therapist, either for you and Claudia, or for Stiles. Or both. The therapist will be able to give suggestions on how to tell Stiles.” He looks around, and sees a pad of paper and a pen on the fridge, probably for making grocery lists. He goes over and writes down Talia’s number. “Call her anytime after...an hour or so from now. I’m going to take Cora home and tell Talia the offer I made, and she will agree.” Peter leaves the kitchen, leaving John sitting slightly dumbfounded at the table, and calls up the stairs.

“Cora! We have to go now, I have to tell your mother something important.” There come a few slight crashing sounds of toys falling over, and two small children barrel down the stairs.

Stiles and Cora both pout up at him, eyes huge and pouting. Despite Cora being the werewolf, Stiles has the better puppy eyes—perhaps from the novelty of use. Cora pouts at Peter almost every day.

“None of that now pups. Stiles, I think that you are probably going to see much more of us if your father agrees, but Cora and I have to go home and let Talia know first. So Cora, save the puppy eyes for her, you know they work better on your mother anyway.” Both of the children get huge grins on their faces and hug each other before attaching themselves to Peter, one on each leg.

“Promise? Promise, Peter?” Stiles looks up at him hopefully.

“As long as your father agrees, then yes, but the sooner we leave to talk to Talia, the sooner you will know for certain. So, let us go, and your father will call later tonight, okay?”

Stiles gives Peter’s leg one last hug, then pretends to chew on his knee. “Okay, Peter. Bye! I’ll eat you up next time!”

Peter lets out a playful growl and scoops Stiles up, pretending to gnaw on Stiles’ belly while taking the opportunity to scent mark him. “Now King Max, you know it’s the Wild Things that eat up the ones they love!” He sets Stiles down and picks up Cora instead, flinging her over his shoulder much as he did Stiles earlier, tickling the back of her knees to make her squeal and giggle. “Goodbye Stiles.”

“Bye Stiles! See you tomorrow!” Cora yells, then they exit the house and head into the forest.

Stiles runs into the kitchen and flings himself at his father, bouncing happily. “I really get to spend more time with Peter and Cora? Really? Promise?”

John sees how excited Stiles is and decides that, as long as Talia does agree, he will allow it. Apparently Stiles has been spending most of the past month with them anyway, and this way at least John can be sure he is being fed and watched. “Yes Stiles. As long as Talia agrees, you’ll go to their house whenever I work.”

“Yes!!”

~

Everyone agreed to the arrangement, and time passed. Claudia grew worse and worse, and Stiles spent more and more time with the Hales, meeting Cora’s brother Derek, who had his own friends but still played with them from time to time, and her sister Laura, who was a bossy jerk. He also met her mother, who was nice, he guessed, but always much too busy teaching Laura stuff to spend any time with her other kids. It was weird. They didn’t have a dad, but it seemed like they never had one, so that was okay.

They also had a secret that they never told him, but Stiles knew. Being Wild Things wasn’t a game for them. They were all real Wild Things, with terrible roars and gnashing teeth and rolling eyes and showing their claws. He saw them change every once in a while, but they always changed back and they never hurt him, so he kept quiet and kept their secret. Secrets were important after all.

Then, when Stiles has just turned nine, his mother finally had to go into hospital. She was on her final decline. He had made friends with the son of one of the nurses, Scott McCall, so he spent a lot of time hanging out at the hospital with him instead of in the forest with his Wild Things. Peter was having to spend some time trying to talk to Derek about something anyway, since his mom was always too busy to talk to him herself.

A few months later, in quick succession, both Stiles’ mother and Derek’s girlfriend pass away. Stiles goes to both funerals, as do the Hales. He doesn’t know what happened exactly to Paige, but he is pretty sure it isn’t a mountain lion like they said it was. All he knows is now when Derek and Peter flash their eyes, they are blue instead of yellow. He gives them each a hug when he notices, touches their cheek gently, and tells them solemnly, “Blue is prettier anyway.”

Derek pales, but gives Stiles a fierce hug anyway, clinging to the boy. “...It makes me a monster,” he finally whispers.

“You aren’t a monster, Derek. You’re one of my Wild Things. You might have made a mistake, but whatever happened, you didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt, right?”

“...No,” Derek finally replies. “But I still think I’m a monster.”

“That’s okay,” Stiles reassures. “I’ll believe you aren’t a monster for you, until you know it for yourself.”

Peter on the other hand, collapses to the ground, pulling Stiles into his lap and buried his face into the boy’s neck.

“I was trying to help and the idiot barely listened to me! He took the bare minimum of what I told him and twisted it, and now that girl is—!” He stops there, possibly too late, but still not daring to confess what actually happened. He leaves his face hidden where it is, tears slowly dampening the collar of Stiles’ shirt. “Now I’m the monster Talia always told me I would be.”

Stiles wraps his arms around Peter, clinging to him tightly. “You aren’t a monster, Peter. You’re one of my Wild Things, and you listen to me, not Tally. You’re too stubborn to listen to her about anything else, why would you listen about this?”

Peter laughs, once, sharply, but it’s enough. “You’re right, King Max. I won’t be listening to her anymore. If she had done her damn job, none of this would have happened! She is his mother and his Alpha, not me!”

~

This was the beginning of the threads tying them all together beginning to fray. The Alpha and her heir were not to ones to comfort her pack, leaving the job to this young boy who was going through loss of his own. And while Stiles did mourn his mother, she hadn’t truly been his mother in a long time. The last stages of the disease began to steal even her memories, causing her to spew hatred and vitriol towards the son she couldn’t remember.

While Stiles did his best to still take care of his Wild Things, he now had to also try and take care of a father that was sliding into a liquor bottle to burn away the pain at the loss of his wife, forgetting that he still had a son to take care of. He now cleaned, reminded his father to pay bills, and prepared simple meals, always trying to make sure they were as healthy as he could. He still remembered his mother gorging herself on sweets, and it left a lasting impact. This left little time for him to run into the forest with his Wild Things, and instead he wound up spending more time with Scott, who lived very close.

And then, a year later, the fire happened. King Max no longer goes into the forest to have a rumpus with his Wild Things. There are no Wild Things left there, only one broken in the hospital, and two that ran away, through a day, and in and out of weeks, and over six years, to New York.

And then, they come back.

Chapter Text

The day after convincing Scott to follow him into the forest in search of half of a dead body, Stiles and Scott are there again, looking for Scott’s inhaler after lacrosse tryouts. Well, Scott is looking for his inhaler. Stiles is silently panicking. He had talked Scott into following him out the night before because even after all this time, he still feels slightly responsible for the forest. All the Wild Things are gone now, and he knows—he knows, okay—that he isn’t a king, really, he never was, but he can’t help but feel the drive to check on anything that went wrong in the forest. By this point, Stiles is pretty sure he knows the Preserve better than the Fish and Wildlife workers whose jobs it nominally was to do so.

But he had talked Scott into following him with some bullshit excuse of it being exciting, and now Scott has been bitten by something. If his memories of the Hales and later research holds true, Scott is now a werewolf. He tries to tell Scott this but is, as seems usual these days, blown off. They reach the spot Scott claims is where he found the body and lost his inhaler, and begin to search for his inhaler. Then a voice startles them both.

“Hey! What are you doing here, huh? This is private property!” A tall, gruff man in a black leather jacket asks, looking irritated.

“Sorry man, we didn’t know, we were just looking for, uh—“ Scott stumbles, trying to explain.

The man chucks something at Scott, and he fumbles to catch it, but Stiles is staring at the man dumbly.

“Derek? Is that—is that you?” he asks, dumbfounded. Last he heard Derek and Laura were in New York with no plans of ever coming back.