"Oh my God, I don't even know what the hell most of these things are." Stiles groaned looking around the cluttered attic in utter awe.

The Hale House attic hadn't been disturbed in over six years, and every surface was covered in dust and crusty piles of greasy, black soot. It had taken a while, but Peter had convinced Derek that there were just too many important things in the attic that they couldn't just keep ignoring; things that could give them knowledge that could have potentially solved them a lot of problems in the past; i.e. info on how to not get slaughtered by Kanimas and Darachs.

There were books, bestiaries, talismans, herbs, paintings, scrolls, weird looking torture thingies; letters, notes, boxes filled with god knows what, pots, pans, statues, some wide variety of moonstones, and basically just a bunch of random shit. And they all had to be catalogued and sorted.

Stiles didn't know why but apparently Grandma Hale was a great collector of all things mystery and magic; including the dangerous stuff.

"What the hell is this?" Isaac asked, hesitantly picking up a brown and crusty shrunken head with a pair of tongs, his face disgusted.

"My mother liked to collect a lot of antiques." Peter shrugged, rummaging through a dusty box of dried herbs. Dude didn't seem even slightly creeped out by the head- and Stiles wondered how much of the stuff up there was actually his.

"So how are we sorting these things again?" Scott questioned scratching his scruffy hair and looking around the room in the same kind of hopelessness Stiles felt. There was just so much. The burnt walls were literally lined with odd trinkets and books; the attic was huge, able to fit Isaac, Stiles, Scott, Peter and Derek comfortably without each other even needing to be within three feet of anyone, yet still it was hard to move without tripping over a stray book or weird-looking item. There were tables full of freaking cat's skulls, coat racks covered in feather head-dresses, giant man-sized urns, ceiling mobiles made of crystals, a treasure chest full of steam punk guns? And a heck of a lot of other things.

It was all Scott's fault really, that Stiles was in this mess. When the teen had heard Derek mention the upcoming and daunting job of cleaning out the crowded Hale attic- he'd (and without Stiles' permission) offered up his own help- along with Stiles and Isaac's.

"We're sorting as follows; books, magical books, herbs, runes, cursed objects, old trinkets like jewellery and globes, plus the added category of 'weird shit' since half the things we find are probably not going to fit into any of the other categories." Peter put forward helpfully- now fiddling with a creepy taxidermy fox head.

"Waaaait. There are cursed objects?" Stiles slowly backed away from anything and everything, hastily putting down the onyx jewellery box he'd been fiddling with.

"Relax Stiles, most of this stuff requires blood and/or torn out and fermented lambs hearts to even start the magical process." Peter said gently, but there was that vicious gleam in his eye- like he'd enjoy nothing more than a good old Stilinski freak-out.

"That's not exactly as reassuring as you think it is!" Stiles snapped, looking to Derek for backup.

The newly-made-beta was frowning, looking around the charred attic in distain. Of course, he'd put off visiting this room for years, he must've been feeling a bit overwhelmed. Hell; it probably looked like a nightmare to him; remnants of his family's positions scattered around covered in soot, ash and in some parts soaked with water from where the roof was leaking.

Suddenly all the char marks, dust, and ash brought a whole new level of unsettling to the area.

Derek turned, noticing Stiles staring at him sadly, "Just get to work Stiles." He snapped, turning away to delve through the piles and piles of junk.

Stiles let out a sigh of his own, Derek may have been emotionally growing in the whole 'letting other people in' area- but he was still a socially stunted asshat. Stiles had no idea why he felt anything for the man.

The teen shook his head and got back to work, shuffling on his feet and picking up the onyx jewellery box once again. It was quite beautiful actually, carved in an oval shape like egg, silver lined with claw foot stands to keep it in place. It wasn't glistening and gleaming, still covered in soot and filth. Stiles still hadn't figured out how to open the box yet- even though he's spent a few minutes previous fiddling with it, rubbing away as much of the greasy blackness off f it's surface as possible.

He ran his long fingers over the smooth surface again, digging his nails into the silver lining and trying to find a- "click" there we go, a catch.

Stiles fist-pumped in triumph as the Jewellery box split in half, the top spinning open diagonally like one of those doors in the fancy rich-boy cars. The inside was lined with soft, plush, navy velvet, looking cushy and unmarred from all the soot and dust the attic had developed.

Lying on the velvet interior was a pretty silver ball- it was about the size of a golf-ball, the surface filled with lines of engraved pentagons and rune-like carvings.

Stiles set down the jewellery box onto a nearby crate, and lifted the small ball out of it.

The object was quite weighted, probably made out of some heavy material like iron and just plated with silver. It looked kind of like a silver version of a golden snitch from Harry Potter and Stiles amused himself with the fantasy that it was one.

He fiddled with it for a few seconds more, before he noticed that you could move it- like some kind of spherical Rubik's cube- the lines of runes and pentagonal pieces could be turned around and twisted, as easy as twisting the top off a bottle.

Stiles hummed, noticing the little clicking sounds it was making with each turn around; it was almost like the sound of a number-lock clicking round and round. Maybe the sphere was one of those puzzle things? Find the right code and it opens up?

He fiddled with it, turning and twisting- noticing lines intertwining and locking in place as he moved it around.

"Hey guys look at this!" Stiles ordered, still twisting the little sections, listening with glee as they clicked away.

"No Stiles don't-," both Peter and Derek started to yell- but Stiles stopped listening once the sphere stopped being able to twist, making a final clicking sound and then whirring, like a machine!

And then, click "OWWW!" a fucking sharp as shit needle the size of one of those butt ones you see in movies-popped out the side and jabbed him- right in the thumb too!

A drop of his blood rolled down the flesh of his thumb and onto the sooty attic floor, creating a stark red difference to its black surroundings.

Well there went his love for that particular object. Stupid freaking needle-sphere.

"What the fuck- it pricked me!" Stiles yelled, placing his thumb in his mouth and sucking away the hurt and blood.

"Stiles close your eyes. Right now." He heard Peter order from across the room.

"What, Why?" Stiles asked, moving his head to look up at the man, and that was when everything changed.

"Shit." Derek cursed loudly- but Stiles was no-longer paying attention, his eyes still fixated on Peter.

The only thought that came to mind was; how had he ever hated this man? Peter was brilliant! Smart, cunning, hilarious and- wait. Waaaaait. Stiles didn't think these things? Did he? Well he sure thought them now, thoroughly believed in them actually. He used to- well actually just seconds ago, he hated Peter with all of his heart…but now? It was like he was having a sudden epiphany. The man was great. Awesome even. How could he have ever thought anything different?

Stiles took a step forward, towards Peter. Magnificent, amazing Peter.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me." He heard Derek grumble- but ignored the man and just kept walking towards him, face slack with awe.

"Oh no you don't." suddenly there was a heavily-muscled arm clamped around his chest, holding him in place and away from where he wanted to be.

"Hey let me go!" Stiles yelled at Derek, trying to get a way but failing miserably against the man's super strength.

"Stiles- you hate Peter, remember." Derek said into his ear, still holding him still.

"What? No I don't!" Stiles argued, managing to break an arm free and stretch it out to the elder Hale.

"Stiles, think about this rationally. You hate Peter- then you get pricked by an unknown, obviously magical object- and suddenly you like Peter. See my point?" Derek sighed, sounding for the entire world like he'd just had enough, enough of everything.

Stiles deflated. Yeah, he got the point. It explained a lot actually. Whatever he was feeling wasn't real- he didn't really think Peter was the most important person ever, that he was the most charming, beautiful, funny man in the universe. But the problem was he did think it. He totally believed it, and even though he tried he couldn't help the gush of warm affection he felt every time he looked at the man's face.

"I- I'm under some kind of spell, right?" Stiles asked, still not taking his eyes off of Peter.

The man was staring back at him, expressionless, cold blue eyes staring straight into his soul. They really were lovely eyes.

He felt as Derek nodded behind him, "Yes you're under a spell."

"Then it won't hurt just to be near him right? Just a little? Till the spell wears off or we fix it or whatever?" Stiles knew how desperate he sounded- could hear it in his voice, but he didn't care, it was becoming almost physically painful not being near Peter.

Derek sighed, sounding frustrated and down-trodden; "Peter get over here." He commanded and Stiles felt his heart leap in excitement.

Peter took three strides forward, shoes bringing up dusty clouds of ash in his wake and he was there, right in front of him. Derek hesitantly let go of Stiles and the boy took his opportunity- springing into action and almost tackling Peter into a hug, rubbing his face against the man's scratchy jaw with unconcealed enthusiasm.

"Ahhh- what's going on?" He head Scott ask in clear confusion- but Stiles wasn't too fussed, as he was still getting himself nice and acquainted with Peter. God, he didn't know why- but it was like this sudden urge had just washed over him; the urge to be close to Peter, the urge to hold him, the urge to love him.

Peter chuckled, patting Stiles on the back, the attention made Stiles' mind preen- which was just wrong…he never felt happy around Peter, why now? Oh yeah, right, spell.

"It seems Stiles fiddled with a 'love curse' trinket. The first person he saw after getting infected was me; therefore his infatuation has obviously attached itself to yours truly." Peter sounded smug almost, which made Stiles happy in the whole 'he likes me!' way- which, no this was not happening; he was not in love with Peter. No!

Stiles, with great mental effort- unwound his arms from around the man's neck and stepped back, clenching his fists under the strain it took on his instincts.

"This can't be happening." Stiles whispered in horrified awe. He looked up at Peter again to check if he was getting this right- yep, still absolute affection, hell even a bit of lust which he knew the old Stiles would usually be disgusted by, but instead it felt right- like feeling these things for Peter was the way things were supposed to be.

The more seconds Stiles stood away from Peter, the more he could feel himself sweating under the strain- his heartbeat making loud thu-thud's in his ears, his whole body tense with the need to get closer.

"Stiles stop fighting so much- your heart can't take it." Derek murmured, sounding both counselling and upset at the same time.

Stiles let out a whoosh of air and tackled Peter once again, his face finding the nook of Peter's neck and rubbing away; he was relishing in the feel of skin-on-skin contact. He wanted more, but knowing that this wasn't supposed to be his usual behaviour; Stiles held himself back.

"This is sooooo weird." Scott exclaimed from behind him, and Stiles heard Isaac 'uh ha' in agreement.

"Come on- we have to get him to Deaton." Derek declared, "Peter and I know what the spell does, but we have no idea how long it lasts for or how to break it."

Stiles didn't actually know if he wanted them to break it- he couldn't imagine going back to hating someone like Peter, not when he loved him so much.

And that was the truth- he did love him, no matter how bizarre a concept that was.