Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As a squirrel Stiles was always on the lookout for the safest, warmest place in a room; and right now what looked to be the safest, warmest place was a long, black, coat, belonging to Peter Hale. It was a nice, expensive coat, with a fuzzy lining, and deep pockets that he would like to burrow himself inside of. The only problem being that Peter was still wearing it – not that he really minded, many times he'd wedged himself up into one of Scotts sleeves and nestled himself down onto the crook of his elbow – but Peter was the one wearing it, and Peter certainly wasn't safe. He was warm though, and attractive. If the threat of death weren't eminent he might have tried cuddling up to him anyways.

Stiles lifted his head when it looked like Peter might be about to shrug off said coat, leaving it for him to nestle inside of. The wolf only adjusted his position on the sofa, kicking his legs up onto the table. He let out a pitiful noise that was too high pitched for anyone else to hear. Hopefully the pack meeting would be over soon, and Stiles could sulk away in the pocket of Scotts hoodie.

“What do you want, rodent?” Peter asked, looking up from his texting just long enough to shoot the whiskey-eyed boy a suspicious glance. Stiles furrowed his brows and ducked a little bit more behind the arm of the sofa. He'd been peering at Peter for well over five minutes now, and had only just been noticed. That, or Peter had just been ignoring him. The rodent comment didn't bother him; he'd been called worse, and he was a rodent.

“Your coat looks soft,” he admitted. “What's it made of?” He couldn't resist asking. He wished he could find out for himself. Peter scoffed.

“Hell if I know. Don't you have some acorns you should be burying?”

“No, they aren't in season yet,” Stiles said with a roll of his eyes, one that would make the elder Hale proud. Peter flicked his eyes back up to catch the end of it.

“Oh, well forgive me for not knowing the proper acorn season. Please, enlighten me,”

“It's not so much a season, you have to wait until the green ones start to darken, otherwise they build up in tannin which is good for energy but bad because-” he shut his mouth when Peter started to rub his temples.

“I was kidding, Stiles. I don't really care.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, cursing the hands of fate for bestowing such a lovely, warm, jacket to such a cold, uncharitable, werewolf. If it had been Erica, Boyd, or even Isaac he'd be half asleep in layers of cloth by now. He looked longingly at the cuff of his sleeve, wondering how far up he could make it before Peter swallowed him whole. “When you die of tannin toxicity don't blame me.” Peter grunted out an acknowledgement and continued typing at his phone.

The weres in the other room continued their argument over territory, or strategy, or whatever it was they were arguing about. Stiles normally would have joined them in their squabble, bickering and chittering, and hiding behind Scott when one of them started to snarl, but then Peter had to come in wearing that stupid, stupid, coat and-

“Stiles,” Peters voice interrupted his thoughts again, he hadn't realized he'd still been starring. “If I give you my coat, will you stop looking at me like that?” Peters blue eyes met his brown ones, and Stiles face broke into a happy grin. Safe, warm, safe, warm, safe, warm, his mind chanted and he let out a happy chitter.

“Fine; then just come here and– Stiles!” Stiles didn't need to be told twice, he was already shifted into a little ball of russet-colored fur. He leapt from the table onto the floor and clambered up Peters leg, and onto the outstretched palm. He wriggled, kicked, and crawled, until he was completely enveloped in black, fluffy fabric, next to the warm skin of a very surly wolf.

“You start chewing, and I'll eat you,” Peter threatened, bending his arm carefully to rest on his chest. Stiles didn't care, he was happy, warm, and safe. He tucked his tail around himself and settled his head on top of it. The wolves skin was smooth and just a little hairy. His last thoughts before drifting off into slumber were, this feels safe.

---

When the meeting concluded, and still nothing had been resolved, Scott searched the room in a frenzy. Peter watched him from his peripheries with a small smile.

“Has anyone seen Stiles?” Scott asked, a tinge of panic in his voice as he checked underneath the sofa. He patted the floor like he was calling a dog. He was constantly worried his tiny beast would be stepped on, trampled, or caught in the springs of a recliner. It wasn't an unwarranted fear, Stiles was a prey animal conversing with predators. Erica always tugged on his tail, and Isaac squeezed him too tightly around the middle. Boyd was gentle with him but Peter still didn't like it. He wanted to grab him out of their hands every time and tuck him somewhere safe.

“Seen him? No,” said squirrel wiggled a little against his arm. He'd been still and sleeping since he'd nested himself down in his sleeve. “But I can feel him squirming around in my coat.”

“What? Stiles! Get out of there!” Scott snapped, eyes wide with fear, like he thought Peter might actually snack on his friend right there in front of him. Peter made no move, but Stiles, the little beast, uncurled himself and crawled out onto Peters chest. He blinked sleepy eyes, his tail bristling. He brought new meaning the the phrase 'bright eyed and bushy tailed.' Peter stroked one hand lazily from the top of his head down to the base of his tail. Stiles stretched reflexively underneath his hand, arching his back into the touch.

He yawned and stretched, blinking his black eyes up at Peter before leaping off the sofa. He shifted mid jump and hit the ground as a brown-eyed teenager. Stiles stumbled a little as his feet hit the floor, but he righted himself before he fell. Whoever said squirrels were graceful had not yet met Stiles.

“Stiles, what the hell were you doing?” Scott hissed into his ear, as if Peter couldn't hear him perfectly. Stiles blinked the sleep from his eyes.

“S'fine, Peter doesn't care,” he stretched his arms, now long and gangly, over his head. “I was sleepy. Peters warm.”

“You could have come to me, I would've gotten my hoodie from the car,” Peter smirked at the jealousy seeping into his voice. “Come to me next time, okay? Peter might eat you.”

“Nonsense, I would never eat Stiles. He's too small. Ooooh maybe I'll boil him into a broth, and use him to make stew.” Stiles was unfazed, but Scott abruptly grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him out of the loft without another word. Peter chuckled.

At the next meeting only a few days later, Peter wasn't surprised when Stiles, already shifted, jumped from Scotts shoulder to his, demanding entrance back into his coat, which he only wore to tempt the rodent back to his side. Peter smirked, looking pointedly at Scott, who pouted from across the room.

Chapter Text

In the space between dreaming and reality Peter couldn't comprehend why his pillow kept moving. It was subtle at first, just a shuffle here and a wiggle there,

“Stop it,” he grumbled in a slurred, near unintelligible voice. The movements ceased immediately. At least his pillow was good at listening. He buried his face down into the warm, lightly beating fabric, and started to drift off again.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thumpthumpthump, thump, thump. His pillow had the most spastic heartbeat. Then he remembered pillows didn't have heartbeats, nor did they move. His eyes shot open and he jumped back, fully extending his claws. The pillow looked normal, save for one small, round bump in the middle. Peter snarled. He reached inside the case and felt around until he felt fur under his fingertips. He grasped it tightly and yanked it out.

The squirrel chittered loudly as he was suspended by his tail in front of Peters face. Peter glared at him, flashing yellow eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here, rodent?” The animal scrambled at his arm and clung to it like a branch, digging its sharp little nails into his skin. “Stiles! Shift!” Peter demanded. He released its tail and the squirrel dropped, in the blink of an eye transforming into a flushed young boy, sitting on his knees where the squirrel should have landed. Peter tried not to pay too much attention to the fact that he was fully naked.

“I can explain!” The boy-squirrel shouted with his hands up.

Peter crossed his arms. “Well then you'd better start, hadn't you?”

“Okay, okay. So, we were at the meeting, and I was curled up in your coat, and then I feel asleep, and then-”

“Yes, Stiles, I remember. I was there for that part,” he fixed him a look that was meant to make him feel stupid, but if Stiles had any ability to feel shame or embarrassment he hardly showed it. The closest he ever came was flustered and confused.

“Right, so then I fell asleep and when I woke up I was still in your coat, and we were in the car – I remember because the radiator was hitting the tip of my tail, and it felt so nice – and so I decided to just stay where I was because I figured you'd remember when we got into the house and call Scott to come get me, but I fell asleep again and when I woke up it was nighttime and you were already in bed.”

“And so you just decided to get into bed with me? Is that it?” He wondered if Stiles knew what a run-on sentence was. Looking back he remembered the extra weight in his pocket as he left the meeting, but having Stiles there had become so routine he thought nothing of it.

“Well, yeah,” Stiles furrowed his brows. “You let me sleep in your coat; what's the difference?”

“The biggest one is that I'm not wearing a shirt. For that matter, where are your pants?”

“I didn't wear any today,” the naked boy shrugged, unashamed by his lack of modesty. “What? I was just going to be shifted all day, it seemed kinda dumb to wear clothes for it.”

“Of course you didn't,” Peter said as he rubbed his temples. The best thing to do was to call Scott and have him pick up his little squirrel friend. But that would mean dealing with Scott, and at the moment he just didn't have the energy. He'd also have to deal with his stupid, accusatory looks, as if he was the one cuddling up to Stiles and not the other way around.

“Stay here,” Peter instructed him coldly, sliding out of bed and going to his closet. He pulled out a hoodie and sweatpants. Then he turned back to Stiles and shoved them into his waiting arms. “Put these on; the last thing I need is to be accused of molesting a teenager if someone shows up looking for you.”

“So I can stay here?” Stiles asked with a beam.

“Only if you put on some clothes.” Stiles pulled the hoodie and pants on quickly, his skinny body swamped in grey material. Peters wolf growled possessively when the rodents scent nearly disappeared under his own. He looked at Peter expectantly once he'd redressed himself.

Peter sighed, as if he was about to do something tedious and unpleasant, and got back into the bed, laying down on his side facing Stiles. The little squirrel chittered and dove underneath the blanket, worming himself up to his chest. It was nice having another body in his bed, even if that body was one of an obnoxious rodent boy with a penchant for fluffy things and acorns. He waited a few more minutes, and when he thought Peter had fallen back asleep he squirmed a little closer, resting his head against Peters arm and curled himself up into a little ball, breathing hot puffs of air against his bare chest. Peter smirked and wrapped an arm around the boy, who let out a surprised but approving chitter and moved impossibly closer.

“Goodnight, rodent,” he muttered quietly into the boys ear.

“'Night Peter,” he whispered back.

Chapter Text

Everything had been going smoothly up until the bite happened. Okay, maybe not that smoothly, and maybe Peter- the resident green-eyed monster -should have known what was going on. Stiles had both of his arms wrapped around one of his and kept trying to tug him off in a different direction. Peter stood firmly in place and maintained eye contact with Chris. They were trying to decide the best way to deal with a stray siren making trouble for the local fishing community. Unfortunately, hearing was rather hard to do with Stiles chittering in his ear.

Stiles was jealous of Chris. It was obvious in the way he'd twitch his tail whenever the hunter passed by. Peter didn't care; maybe it'd teach him not to go running up to Scott every time he wore a new jacket. He was almost certain the boy was buying them just to get Stiles back on his side- or in his pockets. It worked, too.

“Excuse me, Chris,” he said with a put-upon sigh. “I think the rodent wants my attention.” He turned to look down at the boy, who made an excited noise that came more from his tongue and teeth than his throat.

“He can wait,” Chris said in an stern tone, giving Stiles a telling look. He put his hand on Peters shoulder, drawing the wolves attention back from the squirrel. “We need to-” there was a flash of movement as Stiles latched onto the hand. “OW!” Chris shouted, kicking Stiles in the shin to dislodge him. Stiles fell onto his ass and Peter dropped down next to him.

“What happened?” Scott demanded, coming between them in a second. Derek joined them a moment later, facing Peter with a look of distrust and apprehension.

“He bit me!” Chris said, jabbing a finger at Stiles who smirked from his spot on the floor. He rubbed his knee, but was otherwise uninjured.

“Peter bit you?” Derek asked, not having seen where he pointed.

“No, that rat did!”

“Well was he chittering at you?” Scott asked, pulling Chris's hand away from his wound, more concerned for his friend than for the hunter. “Did you try touching his tail? He doesn't like that.”

“I didn't do anything to him. How is this somehow my fault?” Chris asked with a glare, turning to examine his own wound. There was no blood, just a small indent where his teeth had dug in.

“He didn't even break skin!”

“He tried to!”

Peter ignored the ensuing argument, too focused on the teenager who wormed his way under his arm and against his chest. Soothed by the werewolves attentions, the rabid rat turned back into the soft, cuddly, squirrel that was so often the norm for him. He nuzzled at Peters shoulder, making a throaty sound that was his equivalent of a purr.

“You are a brat, you know that? Honestly, I think you might be worse than me.” Peter chuckled, a small light of pride flickering within him at the deviance in Stiles behavior. Stiles only grinned and rested his head against Peters shoulder.

Chapter Text

“Take him take him take him take him!” Isaac shouted as he thrust the violently thrashing burlap sack into Peters arms. Isaac pulled his hands away and they were covered in blood and bite marks, not severe but deep and plentiful.

“Oh for Christ sake,” Peter rolled his eyes, reaching his hand into the sack. The chittering demon inside barked his protest and latched onto the hand with his teeth. Peter growled back at him and winced at the pain shooting through his hand. At the familiar voice the tiny monster pacified and scampered up his arm with haste. Stiles head appeared outside of the bag with a disgruntled sniff.

“Well don't let him out!” Isaac complained, still whimpering over his wounded hands. “He's a prisoner!”

“He's not going anywhere,” Peter said. The squirrel jumped the rest of his way up onto Peters shoulder, settling himself down into the crook of his neck. He seemed aggravated but unharmed as he huffily groomed his tail back into a fluff. “What happened?”

“Scott kept saying he would be a better alpha than Derek, and that Derek should look after his pack more. Derek got mad and said he was going to-”

“Cliff notes version, please,” Peter said, reaching up to scritch Stiles on one ear. The squirrel twitched his tail appreciatively, bending down to give the werewolf better access.

“Derek made us capture Stiles to prove Scott couldn't look out for him,” Isaac finalized, shaking his hands once they'd finally healed. “Ericas bringing a cage for him.”

“If you wanted to capture him you could have just asked me to do it, he was coming by my house later anyways. All you've done is saved him gas,” Peter smirked.

“Why was he going to your house?” Isaac looked at him with those wide, naive eyes that perfectly perfected the expression of innocence. Peter decided to spare him the details.

“He wanted my help with his 'forest nymph' problem.” Before Isaac could asked any further questions Derek burst through the door. Peter didn't really see the point in bursting into your own home, but he supposed his darling nephew could do what he wanted.

“Thanks for helping,” Derek gruffed as he spotted his uncle, sprawled out on the couch. He was shortly joined by Erica and Boyd. In Ericas hands she held a small bird cage, stuffed with twigs, leaves, and acorns.

“Thanks for inviting me.” Peter said back. Upon hearing Dereks voice Stiles let out an angry hiss and burrowed himself down into the folds of the shirt. Peter reached his hand back up and nudged him, encouraging him to climb onto it. Stiles did and he brought him down to rest on his torso, using his other hand to scratch his back.

“Put him in the cage,” Derek said as he spotted the russet animal in his uncles hands.

Peter wrinkled his nose at it. “You didn't even get the right acorns. I think I'll be taking him home with me, thanks.”

“You can't just take him, he's a prisoner.” He reached out his hands to grab the fluffy animal. Stiles screeched, arching his back and chittering up a storm. Peter winced as the high-pitched tone assaulted his ears. Erica growled and covered her ears. Isaac and Boyd both stepped back and did the same. Derek retracted his arms immediately.

“Don't you think this is the first place Scotts going to check once he realizes his friend is gone?” Peter asked once the noise stopped. “Plus, do you really want to listen to that all night?”

Derek glowered and thought for a second. “Fine, take him. Just don't let Scott find him.” Peter rolled his eyes, as if he wanted Scott to have access to his favorite prey animal.

The rest of their time together the pack discussed their next 'plan of attack' which all sort of centered around playing keep-away with the Stilinski boy. Derek paused several times to make sure Peter still had him, and reinsist he use the cage Erica had brought. He left quietly, with Stiles nestled and contented in one of his sleeves.

“What do you say Stiles,” he said as he set the rodent on the passenger seat of his car. He knew it was useless – Stiles would just climb back over to settle next to his leg eventually. “Captor-captive movie night?” The squirrel flicked his ears back and made a very approving noise. Neither were too upset with the situation, it was how they planned to spend the night anyways.

Chapter Text

Stiles started when his window was forced open. He looked up from his computer to see a clawed hand on the sill. It wasn't Scotts. Without thinking he dove to the floor and shifted, scuttling underneath his bed and cramming himself between two shoe boxes. He heard a snarling and a snuffling as the invader entered the room, followed by another. The ground vibrated as their feet hit the floor with a 'thump' that could only be felt by tiny paws. The same clawed hand appeared under the bed and grasped for him. Stiles spat at it in warning. His heart hammered against his furry chest.

“Stop that!” he heard a voice – Boyds voice - say. The hand – he presumed Isaacs - disappeared behind his blanket. Boyds face took its place. Stiles twitched nervously.

“It's alright, buddy,” Boyd said calmly. He reached a hand out to him, palm up. Stiles spat and pressed himself further against the small space. Boyd stilled his advancement with a frown. “We didn't mean to scare you; Isaacs just an asshole.” Boyd winked at him. He heard Isaac huff.

He waited a second, and nothing happened. Boyd stayed still, unmoving. Feeling a little less threatened Stiles put one paw forward and sniffed at the hand stretched out to him.

“Mind if I touch you?” Boyd asked. He took Stiles silence as permission and extended his index finger to lightly rub the underside of the squirrels chin. Stiles relaxed and nibbled at his fingertip playfully, coming out a little more from his hiding place. Boyd wasn't about to grab him. Boyd wouldn't hurt him. He hopped forward again and sat in front of the hand. Boyd petted his flank with soft, slow movements. Stiles shook his tail and pressed into the touch, arching his back like a cat. The werewolf smiled understandingly and scratched him down his back with the blunted nails of a human, not the sharp, ripping claws of a wolf.

“I brought you a present.” Boyd withdrew his hand and a second later it returned, holding a peanut between his thumb and his index finger. Stiles chittered and happily accepted the offering by shoving it into his mouth.

“He doesn't like me,” he heard Isaac grumble from across the room. Boyd rolled his eyes, but from his position crouching by the bed Isaac couldn't see.

“He's a prey animal, they don't like it when you snarl and grab at them.” Then he turned back to Stiles.

“Can I pick you up?” Stiles paused, and then acquiesced, hopping into Boyds palm. Boyd drew him out from underneath the bed and settled him on his chest. Stiles nudged at his sleeves, but they were too tight for him to worm inside of. He snuffled his displeasure and looked up accusingly at the werewolf.

“Give me the pillowcase,” Boyd instructed Isaac, pointing to an empty one sitting at the edge of the bed. It made a good sleeping bag for a squirrel. Isaac handed it over without complaint. Boyd held it open and Stiles climbed readily inside, willingly allowing himself to be bundled up. He just felt so much safer when his body wasn't so exposed.

“So listen,” he continued, after Stiles had made himself content in his cottony home with just his head sticking out. “Isaac and I have been told to take you to Dereks for a while,” Stiles tail twitched, “but, once everythings all over with those two we're going to make you the coziest, warmest, bird-” Stiles chittered “-squirrel house you've ever seen. I'll even help you find a nice big tree in the preserve to put it in, okay?” his ears perked, that did sound nice but he wasn't quite convinced. “Aaaand,” Boyd added, seeing the hesitation in his eyes, “I'll help you gather all the nuts your little heart desires.” Stiles chittered and flicked his ears, doing a happy little jitterbug inside the pillowcase as best he could. Boyd grinned.

“Atta boy,” he said, standing up with the happy, talkative bundle in his arms. It didn't matter that they couldn't tell what he was saying, they knew he was pleased. Stiles let himself be carried out of the window and into the waiting car, where Derek sat in the drivers seat. He would have made a comment about making his betas do his dirty work for him, but right now he'd much rather be nuzzled up to the giant space heater holding him. It wasn't quite as nice as when Peter held him, but it was familiar enough to be enjoyable.

He was placed on Boyds lap as Derek drove them back to his loft.

Halfway there Isaac interrupted. “I want to hold him now,” he demanded, holding his hands out for the furry creature. Stiles snorted, but didn't resist when Boyd removed him from his lap and placed him into Isaacs waiting hands.

“Be careful,” Boyd cautioned. Isaac nodded and stroked him much the same way he would stroke a cat. It wasn't entirely unpleasant. Stiles closed his eyes and nestled himself back down again, tucking his head underneath his tail.

It was fine for a minute or two. He relaxed and let Isaac run his hand from his shoulders down to the base of his tail. Then Isaac squeezed it. He squeezed his tail. Stiles eyes popped open.

“Don't-” Boyd didn't get to finish his sentence.

There was no warning or even time to think as Stiles whirled around and latched his teeth into the hand that grasped at his fur. Isaac yelped in shock.

“Stiles what the hell!” Isaac screeched, shaking his hand. He grabbed the pillowcase that had been discarded on the floor and used it to yank him off of his hand. There was a blur of motion as he was trapped inside the fabric of his pillowcase, but he could still feel Isaacs hand and he bite through the fabric to get at him again.

Isaac lept from the car, wincing as the bites continued all the way up the stairs of the loft.

“Take him take him take him take him!” he heard Isaac shout as he was shoved into someone elses arms. He heard a voice but it was muffled. A hand reached inside the bag for him. He bit it. The hand was yanked away from him and he chittered in squirrilish victory, until he heard the rumbling growl that followed. He knew that growl. Worming his way through the fabric he poked his head out to see the very familiar – and mildly discontented – face of Peter.

He scampered up his shirt and onto his shoulder, nestling himself down into the familiar crook. He licked his paws and started grooming his tail back into its perfectly groomed fluff. He was pleased to see that Isaacs grabby hands hadn't ruined any hairs.

Isaac was speaking again, but he blocked it out. Peter scritched him underneath one ear, he tilted his head to the side to give him better access and flicked his tail.

“Thanks for helping,” he heard Derek gruff as he entered the room. Stiles spat and burrowed his face into the folds of Peters shirt. He was angrier with Isaac than he was with the alpha, but it was Dereks fault he hadn't taught his betas better squirrel handling techniques.

“Thanks for inviting me.” He looked up and saw Erica carrying a bird cage. It had leaves, and twigs, and all manner of other things that squirrels liked, but the acorns she chose were green. He chittered his complaint, but Peter was already speaking for him.

“You didn't even get the right acorns. I think I'll be taking him home with me, thanks.”

“You can't just take him, he's a prisoner.” Dereks hands reached out towards him. More squeezing, rough hands. He shrieked, feeling an immense sense of satisfaction when Derek dropped his arms and backed away, covering his ears. He felt a rumbling of Peters shoulders as he suppressed a laugh.

Peter told them Stiles would be leaving with him, and Stiles was happy with that arrangement. Peter promised him a Star Wars marathon anyways. So long as no one grabbed his tail, he was content. Except for Peter, Peter could grab his tail.

He listened to them talk for a while. Mostly about how they were going to keep him from Scott, but he didn't care for the conversation. As long as he still got his squirrel-house at the end of it. Surely Scott could understand. Plus, Boyd helping meant he'd finally get out of foraging duty. When the talking got repetitive he nosed his way into Peters sleeve, and Peter lifted his arm and allowed him access without complaint.

He hardly noticed they had left until he was shaken out of the sleeve and onto the passenger seat of a car.

“What do you say, Stiles?” Peter asked, “captor-captive movie night?” Stiles did his happy jitterbug again.
-------
“I'm here for Stiles!”

Stiles -in human form- jumped as Scott burst through the door, making the flimsy piece of wood bang off the wall. Peter just sighed and pushed the blanket off of himself. Stiles beamed at the wolfed-out teen before them.

“Hi Scotty!” he greeted. “You got here just in time. Peter helped me build a nest, and now we're watching the Blacklist.” Scotts face twisted from angry, to confused. His wolfed out eyes changed back to brow, and the fur disappeared from his face. He observed the pile of pillows and blankets surrounding the two on the sofa. Stiles still didn't think it was large or fluffy enough, but Peter refused to let him touch the towels or take down any curtains, so he settled for the materials available to him.

“Oh look, he brought kidnapper number two with him,” Peter said dryly. Stiles smile dropped as he noticed the golden-haired were standing just behind his friend. Isaac approached sheepishly.

“He told me where to find you,” Scott explained, as if it absolved him of all crimes. “He felt kinda bad. Right?” Isaac nodded.

“A little.”

“He put me in a sack!” Stiles huffed, wrapping the web of blankets tighter around himself.

“Because you were biting me!” Isaac held out his hands as evidence, but they had finished healing a day ago. “For no reason!”

“He was biting you because you kidnapped him.”

“It's not like he didn't let us! He let Boyd pick him up and feed him peanuts! Then he just freaked out and started biting the hell out of me.”

“I was fine with the kidnapping-”

“You were fine with the kidnapping?”

“Boyd said he'd help me forage, and build me a squirrel house.” Stiles shrugged, then turned his attention back to the were of his anger. “I wasn't fine with you squeezing my tail!” He pointed an accusing finger at Isaacs chest.

He froze for a moment. “You let Peter squeeze your tail!” he defended.

Scott frowned in disapproval. “You let Peter squeeze your tail?”

“He lets me squeeze his tail,” Peter voice dripped with the satisfied smirk on his lips. One of his hands rested on the small of Stiles back.

“That's different. Would you let Scott rub your belly?”

Isaac was quiet for a second.“No?” His heart blipped.

“Gross!” Stiles shouted, Scotts eyes widened in surprise.

“Please, boys,” Peter waved his hand, “let's remember that I have neighbors. Shut the door if you're going to keep snarling.”

“No, we're leaving,” said Scott, regaining control of the conversation. “Isaac, apologize to Stiles for squeezing his tail, and putting him in a sack.”

“Fine,” Isaac mumbled. “I'm-”

“And trying to put me in a bird cage!”

“You tried to put him in a bird cage?” This time the disapproval was aimed at Isaac. Peter sighed, leaning back against the sofa with his head in his hands.

“Okay, I know that sounds bad, but last time he was over he chewed up all the cables. Do you know how hard it was to convince Derek to let us get cable in the loft? He almost didn't replace them!” Scotts disapproval didn't lessen. “We got him acorns?” he offered. Scott closed his eyes for a second, then spoke.

“Okay, Isaac apologize to Stiles for kidnapping him, squeezing his tail, and trying to put him in a cage.” Isaac scratched the back of his neck and looked away, mumbling his apology.

“Okay, fine. I'm sorry for all of those things, yeah.” Stiles nodded, accepting the apology.

“I'm not exactly 'sorry' but, repentant for calling my dad and telling him you, Derek, and Erica tried to kidnap me and that he should have you all arrested?” Isaacs eyes widened.

“He wouldn't really do that!” Scott was quick to say when the fellow wolves heart rate stuttered. The look he shot Stiles was less convinced. Stiles shrugged.

“Boyd still owes me a forage.”

“I think they all owe you a forage,” Peter grumbled from beside him. “By the way, consider this time on the house, but henceforth I will be charging hourly for all my squirrel sitting services, as well as for any damages to person, property, and equipment." Scott ignored him.