Chapter Text
Listen to the 8tracks for this fic: http://8tracks.com/casspiration/into-my-bloodstream
Scott and Stiles were searching for the body in the dark, with only the lights of their phones when they caught sight of the sheriff.
"You go talk to him, he'd be less angry at you! There's no way we're out running him!" Stiles panicked, pushing Scott forward before he could complaining, causing his friend to stumble right into his father's path.
Sheriff Stilinski looked at the boy for a few moments before shaking his head.
"So Stiles has been listening to my radio again?" He asked, exasperated. "This is a crime scene, and it's dangerous. You'll be lucky if your mother doesn't hear about this," he said sternly, looking around as if to find Stiles who was 'hiding' behind a tree.
"Ah- well- it's ah- just me s-sir," Scott stuttered and Stiles face palmed in his hiding place; he should have known he couldn't trust Scott to lie without messing it up. "Stiles told me about uh, what he heard...and uh...I was just curious," Scott finished, not even meeting the Sheriff's eyes.
"Did he mention there was a body? And where there's a body, there's usually someone- well something- that put the body there. I'm sure he informed you we’d only found half?" The Sheriff said, and Scott froze in his spot. We shouldn't have come here, Stiles thought to himself, tuning out the rest of his father admonishing Scott. Soon, he heard his father and Scott walk off, and he assumed his friend was getting an escort home. He's lucky his mom is working he night shift.
Now, the silence set in, and without Scott's panting as he struggled to keep up, Stiles realized how quiet the forest was. Goosebumps spread across his skin, and he almost wished he had just gone with his father when they had seen him, and now...there was no one in sight.
Stiles took a few tentative steps forward, wincing at the crack of leaves under his feet. A breeze blew, tugging at his flannel and sending chills down his spine.
"Which way did we come from?" He muttered to himself, looking around, but everywhere looked like woods. "Great, just great," he sighed, feeling slight panic setting in.
If I have a panic attack now, I'm screwed, he thought...well more so panicked, to himself, standing stock-still.
A crack of a stick drew his attention, and he father's words ran through his head; where there's a body, there's usually someone- well something- that put the body there.
He could feel his heart rate increase as he tried to take careful steps forward. He was not about to become kibble for some rabid animal. He tried to think about the show he'd once seen on animal planet where the hikers had been mauled by bears.
"Oh joy, great job Stiles," he panicked quietly to himself, "now you're going to become dinner to a fanged beast."
A few more moments of silence.
"Not quite."
The voice came out of nowhere, and before Stiles could even open his mouth to respond, his feet were coming out from beneath him and he was flying to the ground with crack. His head slammed into the ground and for a few moments he was dazed, looking around the darkness for his attacker.
He tried to scramble away, but a hand wrapped around his ankle, pulling him back down onto his face. He pulled at tree branches, trying to haul himself away, feeling the body looming over his. All he could hear was his blood rushing in his ears until his own pain laced scream broke through the night.
A pain like he'd never felt before spread quickly across his side, right above his hip, where his shirt had ridden up. He struggled to escape his attackers grip, feeling their weight holding him there. Panic began to spread through his body and his ears rang, and his vision blurred. His heart was pounding out of his chest, and his breath was ragged; a cross between pained whines, and panting.
Something had just bit him.
"Sh, it's alright," a far from comforting voice whispered, and he felt the weight shift, and his body was flipped over. A man was looming over him, but all he could make out in the dark were two bright red lights...right where his eyes should have been. He wriggled, but his wrists were still pinned. His side burned, and he could feel his warm blood dripping down his skin and painting the leaves below crimson. "It will heal."
The voice was smooth, yet gruff, very human, yet the thing leering over him was far from that.
"Wh-who..." Stiles stuttered out, unable to form the rest of the sentence, his vision going black.
"Your alpha," the man-thing smiled, and Stiles swore he saw a flash of white fangs right before his head lolled to the side and he passed out.
~*~
Stiles woke on a couch, the surrounding air smelling much of rot and ash. It was damp, and he could hear a drip of water. He looked around, and realized the walls were charred, the house a ghost of what it once must have been- just a burnt out shell, standing on almost nothing.
He tried to stand, but he felt dizzy, and staggered, catching himself on a wall nearby. He could hear a rat scuttling around somewhere, and footsteps, approaching slowly...and...what sounded like a heartbeat, but it wasn't his own. It was beating steadily, a thrum that rang through Stiles' head.
"Ah, so I see you've awakened," he reeled around, not so gracefully and was met with blue eyes. The man's face was horribly scarred, and part of his hair had been burnt away, scarred scalp remaining. It was a stifling sight, especially in the middle of a burnt house.
"Where am I?" Stiles demanded, trying not to seem intimidated despite taking a step back from the man, "who are you?" He asked, after a few moment of silence. "Your alpha." Rang through his head, but he ignored it, strengthening his gaze.
"Well, Stiles, I am a man of strength, kind enough to grant you a very special gift," the man began, and Stile's breath froze.
"How do you know my name!? Are you some kind of mind reader?" He exclaimed, then going back to glaring.
"No, I read your driver's license," the man said, no amusement in his tone. He tossed Stiles' wallet into the air, and he was surprised when he caught it with ease, tucking it back into his back pocket. The motion pulled at his side, and suddenly, some of the pain was rushing back and he felt light headed.
He staggered on his feet, losing his balance and falling to the side. Right before he hit the ground, a strong pair of arms wrapped around him, pulling him back up as if it were effortless.
He could smell the scents wafting off the man, which was odd. He smelled damp and musky, like leaves and dirt, and a hint of soot. And also, blood. His blood, and suddenly, Stiles wondered; why the hell wasn’t he running?
But the man was blocking his exit, and he was too afraid to try to run past him.
"You bit me!" Stiles exclaimed, breaking the silence.
"I did," the man nodded, and Stiles felt the color drain from his cheeks, and his heartrate begin to pick up again. But now, he could hear it loud and clear.
"Why am I here? I need to leave, my father will realize I am not home and freak out. I mean, something's running around killing people," Stiles panicked, his words coming out fast and slurred, but then he stopped, and his blood ran cold, realization pouring through him. This was the killer. He was standing in front of a man who cut a girl in half. Okay, now he was sure he was going to die. He was going to be killed be a serial killer, and left to rot, and then his father wouldn't have anyone- and oh god! His father-
He was surprised when a hand rested on the nape of his neck, and he felt all his feelings come to a halt.
"You reek of fear," the man said, and Stiles wanted to snap "yeah I'm afraid I'm currently trapped by a murderer" but he couldn't bring himself do. His pulse was slowing down, and the contact was almost comforting. "You can already feel it I see. The pack bond."
"The pack what?" Stiles spat as the man removed his hand.
"Stiles, I am not human," the man said with coy smile. Stiles opened his mouth to retort "yeah you're a murderer" but then the man's blue eyes flashed a brilliant red and his grin contained a few too many fangs for Stiles' liking. He reeled away instantly, tripping over something on the ground and falling with a shrill cry, feeling the pain rip at his injured side.
He tried to scramble away, but he was backed against the wall. The man's red eyed stare met his, and felt something course through him. This urge to follow the man; like a connection- a pull and he fought it, moving farther away.
"Don't fight it Stiles, I'm you're alpha now, I'm the one who bit you," he said, and Stiles froze.
"What are you?" He asked, watching as the man smiled a fanged grin, his eyes burning a deep crimson red, reminding Stiles of the color of blood.
"A werewolf," he said his tone silky and smooth. Any other day, Stiles would've laughed in the man's face, called him crazy and told him to screw, but the fangs were pretty convincing he had to admit.
"I'm Peter," he said, offering Stiles' a hand up. He looked at him hesitantly then looking back up at Peter's eyes which had flashed back blue, "I don't bite...well that may be the wrong use of a joke, wouldn’t it," he chuckled, the same grin pulled across his face and Stiles tentatively accepted his hand, noting how he was pulled to his feet easily. He noticed the worst of his pain disappeared at the touch, and he swore he saw black veins flash across Peter's skin.
"You're probably wondering why we are here," Peter began, and Stiles stared and said nothing, "well, this was my home. The Hale house to be exact," he said, probably noticing the realization that came over Stiles' face.
The Hale's house had burned down, killing almost everyone except two of the children and one of the adults, but he was in...critical condition. He remembered when his father had gotten the call, eleven corpses and one injured. It was one of the worst cases in all his father's career and he had only been a deputy then.
"So you know?" Peter asked, Stiles gave a stiff nod.
"You were in critical care, burns all down your body," Stiles said, his voice calmer. He looked at the burns down the side of Peter's face that disappeared beneath his shirt.
"Yes. And according to medical records, I still am," he said, his gaze meeting Stiles'. It was cold and hard, "I am healing slowly, cell by cell. I was stuck in a coma for six years, trapped in my mind. Do you know what that's like?" His voice began to raise in volume. "And I wake up, just to find most of my family dead, and my only surviving niece severed in half by a hunter. The same hunter who killed my family," he ground out, his eyes flashing red again. "I watched my children, my wife, my sister, all burn alive!" His gaze broke away, focusing on the ground, "The hunters stole them from me, and you're going to help me get revenge," he growled out. Stiles flinched at the sound that came out of Peter's mouth which was almost animalistic.
"Werewolf...hunters?" He trailed, and Peter nodded. Stiles gulped, well it's reassuring he didn't kill anyone...yet.
"We are running short on time, but you have turned and I can't have you ripping innocent people apart, yet," he said with a grin and Stiles froze. A werewolf bit him, and that could only mean one thing.
"You...made me one of you?" He gasped, the panic gripping him for what felt like the hundredth time.
"Yes, I turned you. You are a beta, my beta, and I am your alpha. Don't worry, if you accidentally bite anyone they won't turn, only I can do that, but you'll be better off not bringing attention to yourself," Peter explained, looking at Stiles as if he was ready for a panic attack, but nothing happened. "Your senses are heightened, your smell, hearing, all enhanced. You can hear things no normal human can hear, and smell things as well. And you are stronger. You will soon learn how to use these skill to your advantage, but that is in due time. For now, I need to get back to the hospital before my nurse realizes I'm missing, and you need to scamper home before father dearest gets too worried, and remember, stay calm," he said, and that was it. It was as if he had blinked and Peter was gone, his scent lingering in the air.
Stiles hesitantly exited the burnt house, the forest hitting him like a wall. He could hear every little creature down to the flies buzzing by his head clearly. The scents were so mingled and all he could pick out was dirt, and the damp smell everything gets after it rains.
He took a deep breath, stretching his sore muscles, trying to ignore the now full ache in his side where Peter had bit him. The idea still all made his head spin, and he was unable to grasp it, finding himself wondering when he was going to wake up.
He took his first step and then he was off racing, running faster than he ever had in his life, watching the trees pass him in a blur, forgetting almost instantly of all of the pain. He breathed in the fresh air, his body feeling tireless and free as he raced along, reaching the edge of the preserve where his jeep was parked in no time. He looked up at the sky and realized the sun was just rising, and he still had time before his father was home.
He may have broken a few speed limits in his attempt to reach home, but when he finally got there his father's cruiser was not yet in the driveway.
He went inside, rushing up the stairs, feeling his side barely even hurt at all the movement. When he reached the bathroom and looked in the mirror, he realized how much of a wreck he looked like. He had a fading bruise under his eyes that was barely even tender under his touch, and there was blood all over his shirt and pants. Luckily Peter hadn't ripped any of his clothes, and he was able to wash the worst of the damage off in the sink before throwing them into the wash. He then stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash away all of the dirt and blood from his skin.
The warm water trickled over his tense muscles, and he felt relief almost instantly as the layer of grime was washed from his skin. His hand traveled down his side, tentatively brushing over the mark on his side. It was clearly a bite mark from teeth that didn't belong to a human. But surprisingly, it was just a scab now, completely closed.
He still wrapped it just to be careful, not believing the supernatural healing speed, as if it was some trick his mind was playing on him.
By the time he got out of the shower, his father had come home and climbed into bed, tired from his late shift. Not feeling even a slight bit shower, Stiles crept downstairs.
4:56 the clock read in blinking letters and Stiles sighed, sitting down with his head in his hands. He could hear the tick of the clock every time the minute hand moved along its way. He could hear his father snoring, he could smell the sweat and gun powder residue of his uniform which he always draped over his desk chair. It obviously needed to be washed.
Without thinking, Stiles did a load of laundry mindlessly, flinching at the loud bang the dryer made when it turned on (which wasn't so loud to anyone with a normal sense of hearing). It was as if to cope, his mind had completely turned off every emotion and when he walked back into father's room, he was awake.
Stiles draped the now-clean uniform over his chair, watching his father's eyes stare him down.
"So were you aware your friend was running around a crime scene- did you do my laundry?" He cuts off his accusation to stare at the now clean clothes along with his uniform.
"I couldn't sleep," Stiles muttered, "Dead body and all," he said, which was half the truth. He swore he heard his own heart skip a beat when he said it.
His father didn't say anything, didn't even bring up Scott again, instead thanked him quietly with a sympathetic smile and told him to get ready for school. His lack of sleep of course, wasn't a valid excuse to skip.
Of course, it was hell. Everything was so loud, and the first bell almost brought him to tears, the shrill sound ringing through his head. He could hear every conversation, hear every pencil scrape the paper, each tap of a finger. He was ready to scream by the time the day ended.
As he promised Scott, they met just outside the locker room.
"You okay? You seem off today,” Scott said. They had yet to discuss last night, and Stiles wasn't even sure if he would be able to formulate words on what happened. He was still in denial.
"What? I'm great!" He lied, his heart skipping a beat, "best day ever..." Stiles looked to the side to see Danny, Jackson, and few of the other lacrosse stars approaching. "Best day since the birth of Danny Māhealani...hi Danny," Stiles waved awkwardly, but the boy didn't seem to notice him, like usual. "You look like...you're gonna ignore me..." He trailed, and Scott laughed. Despite the failure, he still smiled, the smallest smile since last night, and it was almost a relief. It was as if all his emotions came crashing back at once and he was pulled out of his funk.
He was almost semi-confident about the beating he was about to get on the field.
He was surprised when he caught the ball with ease, just like his wallet. He remembered what Peter said. Heightened senses. He even scored a few goals, but his fear of someone miraculously discovering him was enough to restrain him for the most part.
"Do a little better and you'd make first line Bilinski," Coach had said, slapping his back as he left the field. It was a small ego booster, at least Coach kinda-sorta knew his name. He'd take it as a win.
"You did great!" Scott exclaimed as soon as they were in the locker room, "You were fast too, Stiles, when did you get so good?!" Scott exclaimed happily, but Stiles didn't miss the stink eyes Jackson was currently giving him.
"Uh practice," he said, realizing how shaky his voice was when he spoke. Scott nodded, not noticing Stiles' glance was no longer on him, but Jackson.
"Well, see you tomorrow, I gotta get home in time to see my mom, she's working another double shift," Scott, and Stiles faked a happy "yeah buddy!" In return, and then he was alone, the sound of the dripping showers reaching his sensitive ears.
He flinched when Jackson punched the locker next to his, the sound reverberating through his head.
"Don't think I didn't notice your little stunt out there," Jackson hissed, and Stiles flinched back. Unfamiliar smells wafted off him and Stiles flinched away at the strong smell of emotions. It was overwhelming his senses and it felt like his brain was spinning in his skull. "Where are you getting your juice?" Jackson demanded, and Stiles looked up at him in disbelief. Steroids? Really Jackson? Do you really believe it's impossible for someone to be better than you?
"My dad does all the grocery shopping," Stiles snapped back, and Jackson rolled his eyes.
"I will find out your little secret Stilinski, believe me," Jackson spat and Stiles felt his heartbeat speed up. He had to repeat over and over that there was no way Jackson would know. He wouldn't find out either. But it didn't stop the panic. Stiles grabbed his bags and stumbled out of the locker room. He felt an odd tug at his gums, and he realized his teeth were elongating into fangs. He held up his phone, catching the reflection of yellow eyes flashing back at him.
He didn't know what to do, and he panicked more, rushing to his jeep, and jumping inside before anyone could catch him making a scene. He leaned his head against the steering wheel, feeling his breath speeding up to an unsteady pant. He could feel his teeth brushing his lip, and he knew they hadn't gone away.
He focused on his breathing, his entire body feeling numb with shock. Without thinking, he lifted his shirt slightly and he dug his fingers into the bite wound, surprised to discover long claws had replaced his regular nails, and they easily broke the skin.
The pain brought him back to, and he watched the wound ooze blood as it stitched back together, like magic. But it wasn't magic, he was a werewolf, and he needed more answers.
Without thinking, he drove himself to the only care center in all of Beacon Hills. He had to be here, Stiles was sure.
He parked his jeep outside, approaching the building slowly. He was met with stale air and the strong smell go medicine and the rot of sickness. He almost recoiled at the stench, but forced himself to go to the front desk.
The woman looked up at him after a few moments, a bored look on her face.
"Um is Peter Hale here?" He asked, and the woman stared at him for a few moments before typing something on her computer.
"What is your relation to Mr. Hale?" She asked, and Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat.
"Family friend," he croaked out, and the woman rolled her eyes.
"We get people like you all the time in here, so eager to see the burnt survivor of a fire. In all the six years he has been here, I haven't once seen you. Get lost, only family can see him," she said harshly, turning her eyes down again, obviously ready to dismiss any form of argument.
Stiles shrunk away, his confidence crumbled. He needed to know how to control it before something bad happened. Every free chance he had gotten he had spent researching, and nothing had been very pretty. He was dangerous now. And desperate.
When the lady at the desk had her head down, Stiles snuck past a nurse who was oblivious to the fact he had been rejected entrance.
"Here goes nothing," he muttered, breathing in air around him, searching for the familiar scent. He was met with the perfume and aftershave of nurses, stale soap, sickness, and just a hint of sticks and mud buried deep within. With a small smile, he followed the scent down the hall until he came to the door where it was the strongest.
A nurse was leaving the room, and as she closed the door, Stiles slipped in. Seeing Peter sitting in the chair, motionless and his eyes unfocused was like a punch to the gut. Six years. How could someone do that to even a monster? Did anyone but the worst of people deserve a punishment like that. Stiles felt a tug at his heart as he sat at the edge of his bed, his eyes meeting Peter's blank ones.
"I need help. I...I wolfed out today..can I call it that? Wolfing out,” Stiles huffed a laugh, “Makes sense, but I don't know how to control it," Stiles began and was met with silence, "You did this to me," his voice raised just slightly, "And I need your help," he finished.
Peter's nurse heard from outside, and was ready to kick Stiles out when she saw Peter's finger raise just slightly, and Stiles place his hand over Peter's adjacent one.
"I need answers," Stiles said, but he was distracted by the energy buzzing around them, like them being in the same room made him more powerful. He remembered Peter mentioning pack bonds, and wondered just how strong they were.
Stiles stood, his hand resting on Peter's shoulder for only a moment before he was gone, walking out of the door.
The lady at the desk watched him go with a frown, and Stiles heard Peter’s nurse whisper, "if he comes back for Peter...let him in."
Stiles cracked a small smile, even if he didn't want to admit it. At least something was going his way.
~*~
"So guess what!" Scott exclaimed over the phone, and Stiles had to move it away from his face because the voice was so overwhelmingly loud.
"What? What's the yelling for?" Stiles asked, and he could practically feel Scott roll his eyes.
"This cute girl Allison who I met the first day in class hit a dog-" he began and Stiles huffed out a breath.
"How could this possibly end well?" He sighed, flinching at how he could hear Scott tapping his fingers against his sheets on the other end of the line.
"If you would let me finish, you would know I somehow worked up the confidence to ask her to go to Lydia's party with me," Scott blurted quickly, and Stiles smiled for his friend. If only it could be that simple for me right now.
"That's great man! Can we talk in the morning? I'm bummed," Stiles lied. He felt like crawling out of his skin, and he was pacing up and down his room. He just needed to focus before he completely lost it.
"Okay, night Stiles," Scott said, and Stiles responded a curt "see ya" and even accompanied a yawn to make it just a little more convincing.
He couldn't help but let out a little scream when he turned and Peter was standing right there.
"I was beginning to think I'd imagined it," he groaned, throwing his phone onto his bed. After seeing Peter like that in the care center, he had had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that this was all some sick sort of hallucination.
"Nope, completely real," Peter said, taking a seat at Stiles desk chair, staring at Stiles expectantly as if waiting for him to say something. "You're taking this...'well' as one could say," he spoke finally.
"How is someone supposed to react when they're bit in the middle of the night by a person who claims to be not only a werewolf, but has and still been in a coma for the past six years," he retorted and Peter shrugs.
"Point taken. I'm assuming you want answers?" Peter said smoothly, "since you begged for them earlier," he added, a glint of mischief in his pale blue eyes, and they flashed red for just a moment Stiles swore if he had blinked, he would have missed it.
"I need control over whatever this is," Stiles began, "I want to be able to control it like you," he finished.
Peter was silent for a moment, before standing and taking one stride towards Stiles, taking his hand. Peter's scarred skin was rough against his, and Stiles could feel sparks of power at the touch, like he had been shocked by electricity.
"Imagine your fingernails shifting into claws. Picture it in your head, feel them extending," he began, and Stiles shut his eyes, remembering the yellow-brown claws that he had seen earlier, and imagined them on his own hand. When he opened his eyes...nothing. "Try harder," Peter demanded, but it came out more like a growl that caused Stiles to want to cower away, but Peter's grip prevented him from going anywhere.
He took a deep breath, channeling all of his energy into the simple task, feeling an odd feeling as his fingernails slowly elongated, like a pressure under his skin, itching to be released. It scratched at the surface and Stiles tried to swallow it down, but it was becoming progressively harder.
"Feel the shift take your body, but control it. Now your fangs, feel them grow," Peter commanded and Stiles could feel the sharp teeth prick his lips. His body was begging for him to stop fighting it, to allow the animal side to take over. A whine escaped his lips, and he looked up at Peter, waiting as the man took his time, probably taking some satisfaction from Stiles' suffering.
"I c-can't," he breathed out, his voice practically just a pant. He could feel a growl rumbling in his throat, and his hands were shaking in Peter's grip.
"Feel it take over your body, but don't lose control," Peter repeated, his eyes meeting Stiles' as a dark crimson red. Sharp nails were digging into his wrists and he watched as Peter controlled his shift easily, trying to follow his lead.
With a gasp, he let all of the power flow through his veins, finally letting it come to the surface. He gasped at the surge of power, pulling away from Peter and bracing himself on his dresser, his eyes meeting his own in the mirror. They were no longer there normal dark brown, but an electric gold. His teeth flashed with each pant, and hair had grown across his face; like side burns, he decided pointedly, straightening out.
"Good, you're in control," Peter smiled, "Now to keep this control, you will need an anchor, something that keeps you attached to humanity. Now mine is my want for revenge, but it can be anything," he explained, watching as Stiles internally struggled with himself despite keeping control.
He thought about his friends, about Scott and the new girl Allison, he thought about Danny, even Jackson, all of the people he would hurt if he lost control. With a gasp, it felt as though a pressure was lifted from his shoulders and he took a shaky breath, feeling himself shift back to human form.
"Good, good," Peter said, "Now again."
~*~
By morning, Stiles had been exhausted but in much better control. Now his only worry as Peter pointed out was the approaching full moon. Apparently all new wolves have difficult dealing with their first full moon, even born wolves like Peter as Stiles discovered.
He barely got any sleep, yet the few hours regenerated him better than they ever had if he had been human. I wonder if werewolves require less sleep, Stiles noted, and decided to ask Peter next time he saw him.
The thought was still off to him. By a lot. He didn't know why he trusted Peter, but it was like there was a small part of him connected to the man. A part that just wouldn't let go. And Peter had warned him about being an omega in hunter-infested territory, and he wasn't sure he was going to be able to do this- losing his only source of protection and information maybe wasn't such a good idea.
He mulled over breakfast, forcing his father to eat whole grain cereal, insisting that it was much healthier than the regular sugary kind.
By the time he was driving to school, he was done with the day.
His entire body was tense, and he remembered what Peter had told him about controlling the shift. He focused on his friends, and keeping them safe. For now, it was enough to suppress him. He had this nagging feeling that something wasn't right, like a small voice at the back of his mind telling him just turn back. It felt like he was missing something after he had gone to sleep last night. He could practically feel the lapse in his thoughts.
When he reached the school, the cop cars parked around were enough of a sign that something was off. Why didn't my father tell me? Unless he didn't know...which means it happened recently while he wasn't on call, Stiles thought to himself, nothing a fairly decent amount of cruisers. Something bad...
"Stiles!" Scott's too loud voice brought him out of his stupor. Stiles smiled at him, but the look on his friend's face killed it instantly.
"What? What's the look for...?" Stiles asked, and Scott gave him an 'are you serious?' look.
"Your dad's the sheriff and you don't know?" He asked, and Stiles gave him a look.
"He had last night off, he wasn't on call," Stiles answered, "What happened?"
"An attempted murder! Well at least that's what I think, they're calling it an animal attack, but I don't know...after the other body, I'm starting to think there's a serial killer!" Scott exclaimed, and Stiles felt his heart drop into his throat. His vision became blurry and he struggled from losing control, he turned around, barely hearing Scott call his name as he stumbled for the showers. I trained with Peter and went to bed. I trained with Peter and went to bed. I trained with Peter and... He continued the mantra in his head, trying to find the missing puzzle piece where his story seemed to lap. Something's missing.
Then he remembered the howl. The bone tingling howl that had traveled through his body like a shot of energy, dragging him almost mindlessly to his feet, teeth and claws bared.
Then I went to sleep...no!
"I need to see it," he demanded, looking up and seeing his brown eyes staring back at him in the mirror, a concerned Scott not standing too far away. "Where did it happen?"
Scott seemed surprised at the sudden end of what he had assumed was a panic attack. He knew Stiles had them, and he had helped him through them many times before.
Unsure after seeing Stiles reaction, Scott tried to talk him out of it, but Stiles was stubborn as ever.
It happened in a bus. A driver was mauled by what they thought was something with the force of a bear. He was just holding onto life. Well at least he's alive...for now. Stiles tried to find comfort in that, but he couldn't.
He could smell his own scent -which he had come to know after sleeping in his bed for the past few nights- all around the crime scene, muddled with Peter's. He felt his breath catch and there was no denying it now.
But why would Peter have me attack innocents? I thought he was trying to teach me...unless I lost control. But that wouldn't explain the howl, and the power. Peter said wolves are stronger when they hunt together...
The shrill scream of the bell broke off his frantic thoughts, and he gave a defeated sigh, walking to class. He was going to at least pretend that he wasn't guilty for the attempted murder of a man- a bus driver at that.
The day passed surprisingly quickly. Even brutal maiming couldn't put a damper on his day -sarcasm noted-. He was so twitchy in his skin and it was so much worse that his usual ADHD. He was pretty sure half the school wanted him dead between his tapping, banging, and humming. He'd even earned a glare from Scott at lunch who had paused his love sick staring at Allison for a moment to notice Stiles' leg bouncing under the table.
"It burns calories," Stiles had said with a fake, dismissive smile that was convincing enough for Scott to go back to his pining.
When the last bell rang, he ran from the school at a pace that would make an Olympic sprinter jealous. He knew he had lacrosse practice today, and he could prove his newfound abilities to Jackson and rub it in his face, but the half-dead man happened to be a more pressing matter at the moment.
He didn't even stop at home, driving straight to the care center where he knew Peter would be half faking comatose, recharging for whatever schemes he was planning for tonight. All he needed to hear was that this was all a misunderstanding and it was just all just a silly mistake of Stiles' part.
He smiled at the brooding desk lady, not even checking in, knowing she wouldn't stop him. No one is stopping me, he thought harshly, but quickly restrained the wolf-like thoughts to the back of his mind where he could directed them.
Peter's nurse was injecting him with something or other when he entered the room.
"Oh hi," she smiled, "I never caught your name yesterday," she smiled. "I'm Nurse Talbot, but you can call me Bella," she said with a voice that was too silky smooth for his liking. She kind of threw him off, but he ignored that, glancing at Peter who was sitting stoically as always in his chair where they put every day, but the window so he could 'enjoy' the sunlight.
"Stiles," he offered out a hand which she shook for a moment too long, her scent overwhelming him the closer she got. She reeked of scented body wash, hair product, and perfume, all pungent in their own ways. To a human nose, the perfume would be the only deductible smell, but to his heightened senses she smelled like she had doused herself in the stuff.
She nodded, smiled one last time, collecting her things and left. Once she was out of ear shot, Stiles sighed.
"If she were my nurse, I think I'd fake my own death," Stiles muttered, not allowing his mind to drift away from the real topic at hand. But before he could say anything, he swore he saw Peter's lips lift in the tiniest smile, as if it was all his body was capable of. Stiles had seen enough of his egotistical smirks in the last few days to know that wasn't true.
"I need to know what happened Peter, what you did to conceal the memory because I'm ready to go out of my freakin' mind! Someone's hurt and I know it's because of me..." He trailed, "And next time, I might kill someone."
"That's the point," Peter's smooth voice broke the silence and Stiles flinched, he hadn't expected anything.
He didn't say anything else, he had barely moved from his spot at all. It was almost as if Stiles had imagined him talking.
Finally, Stiles let out of the breath he didn't realize he was holding. Peter reached forward with a shaky limbs, grabbing his hand in his own, tracing a spiral with his claw into the soft skin of Stiles' palm. He didn't flinch away, simply watched the almost robotic-like movement. Then Peter was back in his position.
"Come tonight. I need help, and you did this to me," he say, hoping the small guilt trip will work on even a man as cold as Peter. What do you expect, some crazy bitch killed his entire family.
Bella waved at him as he was leaving, but he kept his gaze down, pretending he hadn't seen it. She wouldn't be so pleased if she had heard their conversation. He needed to keep his emotions in check because once again he could feel the feral tug from within, scratching its way to the surface vainly as he fought it back down.
That's the point.
He was so confused he knew he wouldn't get a blink of sleep by the time night rolled around.
~*~
He didn't know why he went back to the preserve. Maybe to think or maybe for a relaxing walk. Whatever it was, it had his nerves on end and his senses on high defense. Peter hadn't taught him how to scent emotion, but he had taught him how to focus his hearing.
He could hear squirrels scuttle ring in the leaves and a deer eating away at a plant. It was the sound of soft feet moving stealthily among the leaves that had the mast of his attention. They thought he couldn't hear them, and Stiles intended to let them know he did.
The person approached and Stiles could tell whoever it was, they weren't small. He swallowed back his fear, whipping back around on his feet, letting out a growl without shifting as Peter had showed him, hoping it'd be enough to drive the person away.
"Stop following me," Stiles ground out, trying to sound as intimidating as a 17-year-old with doe eyes could.
"You're a werewolf," the other man said in surprise, but not losing his intimidating stance. Stiles had seen enough Animal Planet to know he was challenging him. The man had dark hair and light eyes on what Stiles would describe as a perfectly chiseled face. He was of course adorned in leather because his appearance wasn't cliché enough for him apparently.
"No I'm a weredonkey," Stiles rolled his eyes, earning himself teeth bared and a flash of blue eyes. Peter had told him beta eyes were yellow, and alpha eyes were red. He had never warned him about blue eyes.
They stared at each other for a few moments, and Stiles could feel his claws elongated.
"Someone was almost killed last night, and there's no convincing me it wasn't you," the man growled.
"I didn't," Stiles tried to defend himself, "At least not on purpose," his voice wavered a little, and the man eased up on the growling.
"You're bitten," he said, "But you move like a born wolf, that means...the rogue alpha bit you? But how do you have control," the man demanded, moving towards Stiles who took a shaky step backward, barring his teeth.
"Usually people start conversations by introducing themselves," he snapped, "and the alpha isn't rogue...at least I hope he's not," Stiles swallowed. He had no idea what a rogue werewolf looked like. Maybe something along the lines of making a kid maim someone and then somehow take the memory. With full intent to kill may Stiles add.
"I'm Stiles," his voice faltered.
"Derek," he answered.
"Derek....Derek Hale," Stiles repeated. One's enough, but two?
Derek didn't question how Stiles knew his name, instead going straight to questioning.
"Do you know the alpha? He killed my- the girl in woods," Derek said, and Stiles rolled his eyes. He knew the girl was his family, and another werewolf.
"Laura was killed by Kate Argent," Stiles answered, spewing the information Peter had fed him. Derek let out a howl what he assumed was agony and rage, lunging for Stiles. Stiles screamed out as Derek's claws ripped across his chest, obviously intended to hurt him, and he struggled back trying to get a few swipes in but he was useless. He hadn't learned how to utilize his strengths yet and they worked more to hurt him than anyone else.
He heard a howl and didn't even realize it was himself until his mouth closed and Derek had finally relented his attacks.
"Get off of my you asshole," Stiles growled, pushing Derek away and skidding away to metaphorically lick his wounds. His shirt was ripped open, and red claw marks scoured the entire expanse of his chest. "I didn't do anything, I was bit in the middle of the night by a guy I've never met who supposedly has been in a coma for the last six years and shouldn't even be alive let alone walking around," Stiles yelled, "I can see, hear, and smell things I shouldn't be able to see, hear, and smell, and now I'm unconsciously maiming people," he took a breath, and Derek looked ready to speak, but Stiles kept going, "I have claws, pretty sure I didn't have those last week, and now there's a guy who's claiming to be my pack ordering me around in my sleep, and we can't even speak half the time because in a God damn coma!"
"Peter," Derek breathed out, and of course that was all he cares about. Not the guy he just almost ripped a new one.
Stiles got up, and he heard Derek follow him, but he whipped around he looked the taller (and definitely more muscular) man in the eyes. "Don't follow me," he spat, "I know your scent and if I even get a waft of it I swear to God," he said, sounding almost a little hysterical, but he sort of had the right. How could he trust this guy? Werewolves were on his shit list right now, and he couldn't trust any of them obviously or else he's going to end up doing something bad.
The cuts hurt like hell, but they were starting to heal. But his shirt didn't heal, and there was no way to get rid of the blood. He knew his father wasn't home but what if one of the neighbors saw him walk in looking like he's just been through a shredder!
He drove his jeep fast, and was pretty sure he left imprints of his hands on the steering wheel. His claws wouldn't retract no matter how hard he tried and he felt as though he had to be on guard. He didn't want to admit it, but Derek had scared the living shit out of him. He didn't know how to defend himself, and was obviously easy picking. What if the hunters catch up to me?
He ran into his house when he reached it, slamming the door. He felt the wounds ok his chest oozing blood and was careful not to drop on anything. Once he was in his room, he stripped of his blood and torn shirt, and pants, going to his closest to hide them until he could throw them away without his father noticing.
He was surprised to find another set of bloodied clothes already hiding there. They were his pajamas he had worn to bed wearing last night, and he vaguely remembered waking up in his boxers this morning. He felt as though a rock had settled in his gut, and he went to the shower, doing his best to take a shower with his limited mobility. It will heal soon, he told himself, but that didn't make it hurt any less.
Once he was dressed again, he sat down and tried to breathe. So much had happened in the past few days and he felt as though his head was going to burst. He was waiting to wake up. After kneeing what he did the, he had no appetite so instead he laid in bed and waited for Peter.
His eyes snapped open from a pitiful sleep when he heard his window being opened and a body entering.
He sat up slowly, realizing it had only been a few minutes, but it had felt like hours.
As soon as Peter entered the room, he was over to Stiles. He can smell the wounds. He forced Stiles shirt up to look at the healing marks. They were stitching together quite well and were already just scratches.
"Who did this?" He demanded, and Stiles sighed.
"I met your nephew, great guy," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "He didn't know his lovely uncle was awake and biting people. He thought an alpha killed his sister.
Peter growled under his breath, shaking his head, "I was getting to him," he rolled his eyes, "And he should know. I was with Laura, she came to check up on me, and Kate took it as a threat and came after us. Laura, being an alpha, tried to protect me. I'm still healing, but Kate and her hunters killed her. I inherited her power, but they didn't know that. They left me to die. They killed almost the last remaining bit of my family!" He exclaimed, "The hunters killed my children, my wife, my sister, my nieces. They did this to me," he ran his hands over his scarred skin, and Stiles flinched. He could feel all of Peter's anguish, and it hit him like a wave, bringing tears to his eyes. He felt loss, pain, and lust for revenge all in one big wave and it made his knees weak. He gasped, sitting back on his bed, everything so overwhelming.
"Stiles?" Peter's voice broke through the haze. He lifted his head to meet the alphas eyes, trying to suppress all their shared emotions. That would mean Peter could feel my fear. Then again, he probably reeked of it.
"Who did I hurt?" Stiles asked finally.
"An accomplice of Kate's. He forged legal documents and helped her get away," Peter said, his tone softer, "He's dead now."
Stiles let out a cry. He didn't know what for, but it escaped his lips before he could control it. He fell into Peter's arms and buried his face in his shirt. His scent was oddly comforting and he felt himself grasping on for dear life.
"Your wolf wanted revenge for me," Peter said, "And I wasn't about to stop you."
"My wolf?" Stiles questioned, slowly releasing Peter from his vice grip.
"Your thoughts when you are human is your conscious. The voice inside your head. When you're a werewolf, you also have the wolf side of your thoughts. Your wolf. They are not necessarily separate, but soon you will notice the difference between them; such as sudden urges to attack people who threaten you. When you lose control, the wolf side takes over, and can cause harm if not controlled properly," Peter explained.
"Why do I not remember?" Stiles asked, his voice small.
"I took them memories from you, I don't want you to remember because it will hurt you. We are a small pack, and because you are my only beta, our connection is strong, but pack wise, we are weak. Betas make an alpha stronger. The more of them in the pack, the stronger the pack is as a whole," Peter explained and Stoles sighed. He didn't want the memories back, he didn't want to know. He tried to reassure himself that the man deserves it, but he kept thinking about what his family must think…did he have kid? They didn't deserve to suffer for what their father had done.
"He was a murder Stiles. He assisted Kate in murdering innocent children, and humans. My wife was human. Two of my children where human. And he helped people burned them alive for money. He didn’t even know werewolves existed, so he can’t use the excuse we are monsters. It was pure greed," Peter spat, "He knew exactly what he was doing."
Stiles couldn't even imagine losing children. It must be worse than losing a parent, because Peter's job in life had been to keep them safe. And he probably felt as though he failed them because of a crazy arsonist. He had to bury his mother when he was a child, but he could imagine multiplying that grief times eleven. Twelve including Laura.
"My oldest son was human," Peter said. "I had four children, three boys and the youngest was a little human girl. The two other sons were werewolves. We lived with my sister, Talia, with her husband, three children; Laura, Derek, and her youngest Cora, and my brother, his wife, and their child. There were fourteen of us in all and only three-" Peter stopped painfully, and Stiles felt the stab of grief along with him, "-Two of us survived the hunters."
"I'm having that sudden urge to kill and maim," Stiles ground out, and it was true. His 'wolf' wanted to taste the people responsible for this's blood.
Peter actually smiled at that.
"Kate is in hiding," Peter said, "But I can occupy myself other way," he said with the kind of smile that sent chills down Stiles' spine.