Only He saw

Broken

Exactly thirteen hours, three minutes and nineteen seconds after Stiles bid farewell to the older man, the doorbell rang, and he was back.

During this time, however, Stiles had been wondering, conspiring and panicking about the recent arrival of the one and only: Peter Hale. He paced agitatedly across the worn floors of his bedroom, tossed and turned in a fruitless attempt to sleep, and never, ever stopped worrying. If anyone was to listen from outside the door, then they would have been concerned by the harsh, ragged breathing emitting from the depths of the room, but Stiles was alone.

What was Peter doing, coming back to Beacon Hills...would he join the pack? Would he turn on Stiles? Was the kindness shown simply meticulously planned manipulation? After every question he asked himself, Stiles felt a knife stab deeper into him, cracking open his emotions, and making him so much more vulnerable.

Why he felt this, he wasn't sure. He would never have worried so much about this before! But lots had changed, and now everything had a hidden, more complicated meaning. A time that was formerly spent watching films, playing games, reading...now he was absent, his mind clouded.

Stiles had always been easily distracted, as is the way of ADD, but now, he would spend eternities locked away in his head, scared of speaking, of saying the wrong thing. His mind reeled over the conversation with Peter, and it gnawed at his insides, creating an insatiable ache in the pit of his stomach. It stayed for many hours, an unwanted companion in the dark hours of one of the longest nights of his life.

At 20:19, Stiles at dinner, alone, and sickeningly analysing every second of his ride with Peter. He doubted the man's sincerity, but he yearned equally as strongly that he was in the process of making a friend. It took half an hour to eat the food he used to devour with gusto. His mind took him to places away from the cooling meal, and towards a realm of dark possibilities and morbid prospects.

At 20:49, he sat in front of the TV, switched it on, stared unmovingly, he wasn't there. For the hundredth time since Peter left, he was agonizing over the words he spoke. What did he mean when he said "Goodbye"? Goodbye forever? Goodbye could mean he was going back to the pack...

At 22:36, Stiles retreated to bed in the hopes of banishing his thoughts, but his sleep was troubled and he woke multiple times, covered in a sheen of sweat and gazing at the ceiling, a knot in his throat and the throbbing sensation of worry creeping through him.

Stiles did not sleep well. Physically or mentally, he was exhausted. He was wracked by nightmares dominated by twisted smirks and knowing chuckles, warped by the onslaught of stress and fear. Much of the night was spent in a state of consciousness, in a sort of meditation. A terrible, cursed reverie.

But when daylight peeked through the windows and lit up the musty, dark room, Stiles felt his nightmares turning into dreams again, and he woke up. He stretched his aching, stiff limbs and dragged himself into a shower. He woke up. His thought lightened as if tracking the sun, and it was like the night before had dissipated, gone, banished. Stiles smiled at his reflection, simply because he felt like he'd gotten through it. He was tired, vulnerable and emotional, but he was better now.

Slipping on a plaid shirt felt like wiping clean a used slate, and he was new, fresh! But as he brushed past the door of his room, Stiles felt the pain of the cut, and his smile slipped.

He was flawed. How could he forget? Doubts came back to the Stilinski household in vengeance, but Stiles pushed on. He was scared, but his shaky hands tapped out a text to Peter:

"Hey Creeper Wolf. Are you planning on picking me up any time soon? -S"

He responded quickly.

"Yes, but I imagine further car drop-offs won't be possible if you don't address the driver by their correct name. - Peter"

Stiles smiled, a hollow smirk, and resigned to using Peters real name, he didn't want to give up his ride quite so soon.

"Fine. Peter. So, when do you get here?"

He fidgeted, waiting for a response, and jumped violently when he heard a car horn, then picked up his bag, striding towards the front door and playfully scowled, but a smile bloomed on his face, flushed cheeks showing how excited he was to talk to Peter. He opened the door and saw the sleek, dark red sports car that rescued him the day before, and Peter smirking behind the wheel.

Stiles opened the door to the passenger seat and whistled, staring in awe at the high-tech sound system and audio navigation device embedded into the car.

"Don't tell my baby...but this is impressive."

"Hello to you too, Stiles."

"Oh, yeah. Hi! Thanks for the whole drop off thing..." Stiles drifted off and awkwardly looked out of the window, unsure which of the many possibilities he wondered about last night would come true.

"It's the least I could do."

Peter smiled and looked over at the fidgeting boy, he looked paler and gaunter than the last time they met, Peter thought that would have been impossible, and he hoped he wasn't the cause of it. The pungent scent of worry, fear and self-loathing drifted over to Peter and he considered going back on what he said yesterday. He wanted to help Stiles, and he wasn't sure why, but a protective instinct was curling itself around his brain and

he wanted to be there, to mend the broken boy he was sitting next to.

Peter was confused, feelings like this weren't usual for the lonesome wolf. But Stiles had worked his way into his heart, whilst believing he wasn't in any. So Peter resigned himself to trying to at least let Stiles know he wasn't unloved, by Peter? No. By others? Peter was sure.

"Listen, you should come over to my loft tonight and you can ask whatever you want, alright?"

"And you promise to answer truthfully?" Stiles owlish eyes blinked up at Peter, and made him sigh, and say;

"Yes. Of course."

"Cool! I mean, do they have to be related? I have a lot of questions...so thanks! I'll see you later, right? Bye."

Peter opened the door for Stiles, smiling and telling him to have a good day, and watched the boy walk off, and he noticed. He w=saw he gait of a man who felt trapped, broken and cornered.

He could change that.