[ Life, as Peter has learned over the years, is full of could have beens, should have dones, and what ifs. What if he'd been paying more attention to his errant nephew's goings and doings? What if he hadn't killed Laura? What if the fire had never happened? His family could have been alive. They should have been happy. He would've never bitten Scott McCall that day in the woods, half mad with rage and power, and that, in turn, wouldn't have dragged what seemed like the entire teenage population of Beacon Hills into the mess that followed.
But enough of the conditional tense. While coming back to life had been possible for him due to a dash of ingenuity and the right set of circumstances as well as Lydia Martin's aid, going back in time and changing the past only causes trouble and paradoxes. Peter's learned (learning, what does it matter?) to live with his regrets. Of course, some days it's more difficult than others, especially when one of those regrets pops out of thin air like a taunt.
He should've bitten Stiles when he had the chance.
Kept him as more than an on and off ally, a persistent thorn in his side, a number that popped up on his phone screen one time too many to brush off. He rather liked Stiles, in the same way that he liked Derek during his most stubborn teenage periods-- with a healthy dose of exasperation and desire to meddle. But there had never been a right time-- there had always been some mess or another to be taken care of, not to mention the general distrust that had followed Peter wherever he went. Not to say that it had been or still is entirely unfounded.
Peter's never been an upstanding citizen.
Still, he plays at it with the best of them, looking like nothing more a respectable gentleman, well dressed and sleek, peering down at an old acquaintance, and then leaning down to pick up one of the fallen boxes. Peter presses it gently but insistently into Stiles's grasp, fingers grazing over bare skin, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Should he take Stiles's lack of hostility as a warm welcome, or an onset of shock before his fight or flight instinct kicks in?
Watching the restless pass of Stiles's hands, Peter thinks, ah. Body language. Always such a reliable giveaway. ]
And the teenage staple of fast food. Don't forget that. [ For someone who had frequently monitored his father's diet, Stiles certainly hadn't lead by example. ] It's been a long time, Stiles. [ The name rolls off his tongue like molten gold, warm and smooth. Peter pauses for a moment. ] I'm glad to see you're doing as well as any haggard student can be.
cradles it gently to my chest and VOLLEYS IT BACK
But enough of the conditional tense. While coming back to life had been possible for him due to a dash of ingenuity and the right set of circumstances as well as Lydia Martin's aid, going back in time and changing the past only causes trouble and paradoxes. Peter's learned (learning, what does it matter?) to live with his regrets. Of course, some days it's more difficult than others, especially when one of those regrets pops out of thin air like a taunt.
He should've bitten Stiles when he had the chance.
Kept him as more than an on and off ally, a persistent thorn in his side, a number that popped up on his phone screen one time too many to brush off. He rather liked Stiles, in the same way that he liked Derek during his most stubborn teenage periods-- with a healthy dose of exasperation and desire to meddle. But there had never been a right time-- there had always been some mess or another to be taken care of, not to mention the general distrust that had followed Peter wherever he went. Not to say that it had been or still is entirely unfounded.
Peter's never been an upstanding citizen.
Still, he plays at it with the best of them, looking like nothing more a respectable gentleman, well dressed and sleek, peering down at an old acquaintance, and then leaning down to pick up one of the fallen boxes. Peter presses it gently but insistently into Stiles's grasp, fingers grazing over bare skin, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Should he take Stiles's lack of hostility as a warm welcome, or an onset of shock before his fight or flight instinct kicks in?
Watching the restless pass of Stiles's hands, Peter thinks, ah. Body language. Always such a reliable giveaway. ]
And the teenage staple of fast food. Don't forget that. [ For someone who had frequently monitored his father's diet, Stiles certainly hadn't lead by example. ] It's been a long time, Stiles. [ The name rolls off his tongue like molten gold, warm and smooth. Peter pauses for a moment. ] I'm glad to see you're doing as well as any haggard student can be.