𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎 𝟏𝟎𝟏. ( 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘬𝘪 )

𝐓𝐄𝐍. the one where stiles has a plan

    It took a few days of Stiles-therapy to convince him that he wasn't the bad guy. It was a bit pitiful, the way Peter beat himself up for it. Baffling, the way peter thought he'd done something morally wrong.

    For a superhero, Peter didn't like violence.

But now it was nearing the end of August, and the two month mark of Stiles and Peter being the absolute best couple Beacon Hills had ever seen.

TWO MONTHS AGO . . .

"Hey Stiles! You'll never believe you I caught on a call tonight!" Sheriff Stilinski bellows from the bottom of the stairs, beckoning smiles to curtly exit his bedroom and hustle down the stairs. It's a nightly occurrence, Sheriff arriving home and Stiles sitting in random positions throughout the kitchen to listen about his dad's day while Sheriff finally eats dinner.

    He hops on the counter, tossing an baseball up and down again, to give his hands something to do so he can actually listen. "What?"

    Sheriff chuckles, "That spider kid. God — little bastard hobbled in and out of the crime scene like it was laser tag." He shook his head.

    Stoles ' face fell. "What — what happened?"

   Sheriff hummed, sliding a plate of leftovers into the microwave for a minute or two. "Umm... petty armed robber in a jewelry store downtown. Couple no goods with some heat."

   Almost falling off the counter, Stiles skids to the door in his plaid pajama pants and lacrosse hoodie and snatches his keys. "I gotta go! I'll — I'm — I can't think of an excuse, I'll be at Peter's!" He yelled, almost rolling down the stairs and out to his Jeep. The tires screeched and left a black mark on the edge of the driveway before it was hurtling down the road and towards Beacon Preserve Apartments.

    Sheriff cracked open a beer. "I should've parented. But — a recorded Mets game is calling me." He mumbled to himself.

    Stiles jammed his copy key into the apartment door, slipping in what would've been soundlessly if he hadn't knocked off aunt May's purse in the process.

   Who was also sitting on the couch watching a chick flick. Her head turned. "Guhhh! Jesus, Stiles! Why do you have a— " She hesitated as she stared at the key, a hand over her heart. she pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. "Should I ask?"

   He shrugged. "You can. But I don't advise it."

   She waved him off. "Just don't  — he's in his room."

    And he didn't just that, half sprinting down the corridors of the apartment and past all the frames of baby Peter. And almost busting down the shut door, Stiles was heavily breathing upon seeing Peter standing in the mirror in simply boxers, wiping fresh blood out of a gash on his side.