Saying Stiles was happy to have been accepted in New York University was the understatement of the year. He was ecstatic. No more werewolves, no more danger, no more ignorant friends no more shoving into walls, cars, trees. No more sacrifices for ungrateful assholes. Instead, it will be learning, the big city, pickpockets and real life superheroes. The avenger’s tower was there, as well as Spider Man and Deadpool. All the best were there and no supernatural attacks were taking place. Supervillain, yes, of course. But no supernatural. Heaven on earth.
So after saying goodbye to his father at the airport and promising to call, he was off to great things. Even if his so called pack didn’t even took the time to say goodbye, except a shy gift from Derek the day before (a fucking badass red leather coat which Stiles was wearing and never putting off), he was ready for his new life.
First thing first, putting his things in his dorm. Upon arriving, he discovered that his roommate was already in and had chosen the side closest to the door. And upon a quick look, he decided that this mysterious roommate had begun their cohabitation on the good foot: not a thing outside his side of the room but not too well organized to mean he was a perfectionist. And the duct tape keeping his laptop together seems so close to the one Stiles uses to help keep his PlayStation in one piece they may have come from the same store. So, a roommate with a close upbringing to his own. Not a rich guy or a jock. Another good point.
After calling his father to report his good arrival, Stiles began to unpack. He was half burrowed under his clothes in the search of his phone charger when a young man enter the room, tripping on thin air, catching himself before closing the door and locking it while glancing at Stiles. After a few moment of awkward silence, Stiles introduced himself:
“Hi! I’m Stiles Stilinski! I suppose that you are my roommate?”
The stranger seems to deflate and smile an embarrassed smile.
“Yes. I’m Peter. Peter Parker. I hope we’ll be fine together. And sorry for the grand entrance. I…I… well, I’m not exceptionally coordinated?”
“Then, that makes two of us! I am capable of tripping on thin air, my own foot, anything really. So, where do you come from, Peter?”
“New York. I live with my aunt but we decided it was best if I tried the independence thing. And you?”
“I’m from Beacon Hill, California. So… Not a choice to be in a dorm, but it seems I lucked out with you! So… how opposed would you be to help me discover New York this afternoon? I pay in pizza!”
And that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, made of snark, video game, studying (they were both majoring in bio-engineering), shared meal and experience.
Peter never asked about the nightmares and scars and Stiles didn’t comment on the hypervigilance and fresh wounds.
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After six months of studying together and too many COD competition, they were on a Scott-Stiles epic bromance level. Living together had seems like the most natural thing and they already planned to apply for the same placement for next year. All was well when the proverbial shoe had to drop.
The night wasn’t even half way done when Peter came crashing down their door, covered in blood and having difficulties to breath. And if the half torn costume wasn’t enough a hint, the live feed Stiles was watching where Spider-Man had been made a human ball by mutants before kicking their ass and disappearing would have made the trick.
Stiles sprang into action, reaching for the special first aid kit he kept under his bed before hurrying next to Peter and closing the door. He checked his roommate quickly and decided that moving him was his better chance. He tucked Peter’s arm on his shoulders and put him on his bed, thanking whoever was listening that Peter finally fell unconscious. After deciding that the costume was already good for the trash, he cut it to have a better access to the injuries and swore under his breath. He could already see at least two broken ribs that needed resetting, probably causing the short breath, multiple knife wound in the belly that needed stitches and an impressive collection of what will be some painful bruises. Peter will be black and blue before tomorrow morning. As the cuts weren’t oozing too much blood, Stiles decided to begin by the ribs, praying for some more time of unconsciousness because it was going to hurt like… He didn’t even have a good comparison. He had to put them back in place, guessing that Peter has a similar metabolism as the wolves, since his bruises always only took hours to disappear, and probably not under make-up like Stiles had supposed.
After breathing a good time, he got to work. Peter woke up while he was putting the first rib in place, screaming under the pillow Stiles hastily put on his mouth. The second one made him faint again, which was a blessing for Stiles who had to stitch him up without any anesthetic. After treating all the wounds, he picked Peter up and put him in his own bed.
He then took an hour to clear all evidence of what just happen in the room and in the building, going as far as washing the rail in the stairs to be sure no blood could be seen anywhere. He put the bed clothes on fire in there shower, obscuring the fire alarm and putting the ashes in the trash, with pieces of paper to make people believe he burnt his papers. Working with the pack gave him some good skills in hiding evidences.
And when their neighbor came to see what the commotion was earlier, Stiles was able to make it seems like a TV problem.
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When Peter woke up several hours later, it was to see a tired looking Stiles writing essays on his computer.
“What…what happened?”
“You had your ass kicked by some mutants near Brooklyn. I don’t know how you made it back with the injuries you had but… well, here you are.”
Peter began to try to sit up, moaning in pain.
“Don’t move just yet, your ribs aren’t healed enough. Give it two more hours and you’ll probably be okay.”
“So… You know then?”
“Yes. And don’t worry, I won’t be screaming it everywhere that my roommate is freaking Spider Man… if you agree with my demands.”
Peter winces, regretting his judgement of Stiles. He thought the guy was great and even considered telling him about being Spidey. What an error! So he took his colder voice to ask:
“What are they?”
“Firstly, when you go out, I want to know where. No more going and getting your ass kicked where I can’t come and get you. Which call for point two: keep your phone on you and call me when you need help. No more going without back up. And if you don’t, I’ll stalk you every night and I’ll stop you when you try to go help people. Third point: I’ll come with you and help you when I can, and you can’t say no to it. And fourth point, you come back with an Hawkeye autograph next time you see the avengers. Alright? Good, glad we had this discussion. Now, Dr Pepper or Pepsi?”
Peter remained dumbfounded on the bed. He… He just… Stiles blackmailed him to force him into accepting his help. He cut Stiles in his comparison between the two, sugar levels wise.
“Stiles. You are weird.”
“I know, thanks. But I tell you right now. I’m no sidekick. So, don’t begin with any bullshit. I know your weak point, Parker, and I won’t hesitate to use it!”
While the pack won’t realize before months what they lost when Stiles left, Peter was more than aware of what he gained when he was assigned Stiles as a roommate. And that’s what made it worth the years of battles and worry for his oh so human friend that were to come.