#wolf within

Stiles just shrugs and gives him a hug. “You did your best, dad. Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

“When did you get so wise, kid,” John replies, his arms tightening around Stiles.

His wolf is content with his dad remaining unhurt. It doesn’t concern itself with John’s emotional state, reminding Stiles that John will bounce back as he always does. Soon enough the sheriff will be charging into danger himself and causing Stiles to tear his hair out in frustration. The Hale fire and the deaths six years later will soon be forgotten by the regular people of Beacon Hills. Even his dad will eventually let the case go.

Stiles, well. Stiles hasn’t seen Peter in a while and the urge to lay eyes on him itches at him, but he isn’t going to crash his dad’s investigation or break into the hospital where they’re on high alert for any possible remaining co-conspirators. In the meantime, he goes to school. He channels his frustration into succeeding in beating Lydia’s scores in two classes. Lydia’s look of intrigued surprise is fun, but it doesn’t send those familiar flutters through Stiles’ heart.

Scott takes his attempts to be normal up a hundred notches every time Stiles looks away from him. He has Allison back now and he’s still co-captain of the lacrosse team, but he’s there more out of sheer determination than wolfy reflexes. He and Jackson even seem to be getting along now that Scott has ceased being competition for him. With less distractions and Harris gone, Scott’s grades aren’t even all that bad now.

They’re still best friends. They’re always going to be. But the supernatural side of the world has become something like a bad dream for Scott these days, and Stiles doesn’t try to drag him back. Scott hadn’t been meant for this world.

Stiles, though?

Stiles can’t bring himself to regret a single thing.

It takes a full two weeks for him to finally get Peter alone in a secure location. Stiles tells his dad he’s going to Scott’s and drives to Peter’s speedily acquired apartment. Peter been able to rent it after (probably shadily) getting his access to his bank accounts restored and reinstated as co-executor of the Hale trust, as set by Talia’s will.

Peter’s already leaning against the door frame when Stiles gets to the second floor, looking unfairly attractive even with the scars on the right side of his face. Stiles’ wolf makes a low, happy noise that’s probably the closest a wolf can get to a purr. Their Alpha is alive and content, his scars only temporary marks left by Stiles himself.

“You haven’t healed them yet?” Stiles asks as he gets within reach of Peter. Peter steps aside to let him into the apartment, but Stiles still brushes up against him as he enters, catching some more of Peter’s scent. “I thought you’d do it as soon as the police finished their investigation.”

“I can deal with them for a short while until I will vanish for a week with the excuse of getting extensive plastic surgery.”

Peter’s eyes have a glint of amusement that has Stiles asking, “Where will you actually go?” He drops into one of the stools at the kitchen island. Across from him, Peter’s plate of pancakes is unfinished, and another one slides over to Stiles, who wonders if Peter had been expecting him or if he should just always make sure to time his visits when Peter’s eating brunch. A man who spent six years comatose should not cook so well, dammit. (Stiles tries his damnedest not to think about licking that same syrup off of Peter’s skin.)

“A week of sitting back on a beach in the Caribbean is exactly what I need after being in this town for too long,” Peter tells him. With a bit of a smirk, he says, “I’m leaving the week of April 22nd.”

Stiles wonders for a moment if being a werewolf means he doesn’t have to worry about sunburn and skin cancer before the nearly chokes on his pancakes as he realizes why that date sounds familiar. With too much interest in his voice, Stiles says, “You’re such a creep.”

“Does that mean you’re not interested?”

“Explanations first, then you can continue bribing me.” It’s rare that he’s been able to go on a proper vacation. Ever since his mom died, there haven’t been any trips out of the country. So if Peter wants to plan out Stiles’ spring break, Stiles won’t object.

“I prefer to put it as stacking the odds in my favor,” Peter replies.

“They’re already in your favor,” Stiles says with a roll of his eyes. “You know that, right? I wouldn’t have helped you or healed you otherwise. I don’t completely trust you and I don’t think you’re back to full sanity yet, but I’m on your side.”

“I gathered,” Peter replies, but the quirk to his lips isn’t a smirk. “Thank you, Stiles.” Setting his silverware down, Peter begins with, “That ritual you and Scott performed came to Derek through a book of werewolf fairy tales Talia read to him as a child.”

“What?” Stiles said, the words not truly penetrating. “No, it was real, I know it was. I wouldn’t be a werewolf otherwise.”

“A werewolf prince lay dying on the battlefield in the midst of the deciding battle between his kingdom and another’s. His generals gathered around him, losing hope in ever winning their war, until he called his fiercest general to him. She had served by his side for decades and the two of them knew each other’s souls as well as their own. He bound their bloodied and bruised hands together with a piece of twine and asked his general to fight in his stead, to be everything he could have, should have been. His general readily agreed, and when she next opened her eyes, they glowed with the prince’s strength. But when the prince’s strength was not enough and the invading army was simply too large to defeat with teeth and claws, she called upon a greater power and unleashed a storm on the invaders, and lightening only hit those who wished her people harm. There had always been magic users and there had always been werewolves, but she became the first wolf-mage to walk this earth.”

“Let me guess, she was your dozen-greats great-grandmother?”

“She was a fairytale,” Peter said. “A figure meant to create unity between shifters and humans who could do magic. Or so I always thought. There are two other recorded instances of the ritual succeeding—the most recent being five hundred years ago—but I never put much faith in those stories. Those circumstances have been attempted to be recreated and all sorts of variations in the legend have formed, but none have been successful.” A dramatic pause, because Peter’s definitely one of those guys. “Until you.”

“It’s like saying Bloody Mary three times in the mirror, isn’t it,” Stiles mutters, rubbing at his face. He doesn’t even know what the hell to do with Peter’s words. His wolf accepts the explanation easily, knowing full well that Stiles is special, but Stiles is gobsmacked. “Do you think Derek knew it was going to fail?”

“He could have. He is under some stress what with managing my beta—former beta—and trying to solve my murders. Perhaps he was trying to buy some time for himself. But there’s also the fact that I doubt Derek met many Bitten werewolves until Scott, and none he would’ve spent an extended amount of time with. For all he knew, there was a slight chance of it working. At least he didn’t go for the more manipulative ‘if a Bitten wolf kills the Alpha who bit them, they become human again’ idea.”

“Another fairytale?” Stiles asks.

“Very much so.”

“During the fight, everything I did was plain instinct,” Stiles says, remembering the tantalizing haze of power that had overtaken him. “I’m scared of burning my house down if I try to use it consciously.”

“I’ll help you control it.” It’s a promise.

“Nice of you,” Stiles mutters. “And then you’ll try to control me.”

“As much as you’ll let me, yes,” Peter agrees, something rather serious in his eyes. He steps off of his stool and walks over to Stiles, who spins around in his seat to face him. He’s not about to run away from this.

Because oh does he get it. “I’m a double-edged sword for you, aren’t I? I can help you achieve more than you could ever get on your own, but I have the power to knock you down if you take too much.” He thinks of how easy this already is, of the way he feels something growing under his skin.

Peter’s so close that Stiles has to lift his chin to meet his gaze. There’s no space between them for him to get up from his stool to avoid Peter’s looming, but neither Stiles nor his wolf feel threatened.

“Is that what you want?” Peter asks, cocking his head. He sounds honestly curious.

Peter’s probably armed with a thousand reasons for Stiles to stay a part of his pack, but Stiles doesn’t need them. I’d look good in red, he remembers, but he doesn’t want the red. He doesn’t need it. Mostly, he just wants Peter to be the man Stiles thinks he could be instead of the madman who’d chased them through the school. He seems saner now, better, and Stiles wonders how much of that is Stiles’ doing. A willing packmate, and one that’s a wolf-mage, whatever the hell that is since Stiles still doesn’t know nearly enough.

“I’ll stay as long as you don’t give me a reason to leave.” And short of Peter going on another murder spree, this time of innocents, or trying to control Stiles, Stiles can’t see himself leaving. But Peter’s not standing this close as his Alpha, nor as a werewolf. He’s a man down to the heat in his eyes. Stiles’ wolf is hungry for him in ways Stiles can’t comprehend, and Stiles himself wants more than anything to throw caution to the wind. Stiles grips the front of Peter’s shirt, tugging him even closer. “If this is just because you think my magic is hot, you need to tell me.” He needs to know now, because Peter can be his Alpha just fine without adding this into the mix. And huh, Stiles realizes, that’s true—the human half of him has accepted Peter as his Alpha.

“Your magic is powerful—”

Stiles’ heart stutters, but Peter rubs his thumb over Stiles’ lip and it stutters for a different, better reason.

“—but it builds on the power you already have. I want you for your magic, your intelligence, your perfectly skewed moral compass, your contradictions, your ruthlessness, your kindness.”

And fuck if Stiles doesn’t want him, too. He tugs Peter down to his level and kisses him the way he’s wanted to ever since he woke up in that tiny hospital room against the warmth of Peter’s form. He’d been terrified and confused, but the idea had gotten into his head and wouldn’t leave him. There’s less confusion now, less terror, more lust for the way Peter pushes him against the counter and kisses him.

When he catches his breath, Stiles says, “Best terrible decision ever,” and goes in for another kiss.

And that’s it! Thanks for reading this shameless excuse for bamf!Stiles fic ;)

“Trust that I have too much invested in you to allow you to be killed,” Peter says. “You will live through this.”

Before he turns around, Stiles tells him, “Same to you. Seriously. Don’t.”

He wants answers out of Peter. (He wants to be near his Alpha again. He wants to see Peter happy instead of determined and vengeful. He wants his wolf to stop being an idiot.) Peter isn’t allowed to die any more than Stiles is.

The car is just where he’d left it. Stiles puts his claws away and blasts the radio on. He drives slowly, bobbing his head with the music as the Hale house comes into view. One of the hunters walks out of the house. He’s only a few steps from the doorway, but it’s enough.

“This is private property,” the hunter calls. “Get out.”

It’s so reminiscent of his first meeting with Derek that Stiles wants to punch the asshole’s teeth out. Instead, he just yells over the music, “Where am I supposed to smoke then?”

“You’re—”

Whatever he was going to say, he doesn’t finish it. Peter is a blur as he tackles the hunter to the ground and rips his throat out. His alpha form is as terrifying as it was when he’d chased Stiles and his friends through the high school. Stiles assures his lizard brain that Peter’s teeth aren’t gonna go near his throat unless he wants them to as he ducks out of the car. It’s just in time, the second hunter having started shooting from inside the house. The hunter’s attention is on the too-fast dark mass that keeps flitting around, and Stiles takes the opportunity to slide through the tunnel he’d conveniently parked close to.

It’s dark and musty, but there’s no sign of Kate making her escape.

If his Jeep gets hurt, Stiles is gonna… Well, he’s gonna hope Peter teeth are as sharp as they look.

A moment later, all sounds from above stop. Stiles’ claws are out, his steps careful as he makes his way to the Hale basement. He peeks through a hole in the panel between the tunnel and the basement. Instead of finding Kate and Derek there, he catches a glimpse of Kate’s back as she vanishes up the stairs. Stiles slides the panel back, trying not to cough from the overwhelming amount of ash. His sensitive hearing picks up Peter asking if Kate expects that gun to be of any use against an Alpha.

Derek is chained to a metal stand, snarling as he tries to break away. It takes him a few moments to register Stiles’ presence and whip his head around. At least he keeps his voice quiet as he says, “Stiles?”

“Hey-ow.” Stiles shakes his foot out after a nail nearly goes through his sneakers. This whole house is trying to kill him. “How’s it hanging?”

Derek bares his teeth at him, then looks startled when Stiles does the same in return. “You were bitten?”

“Not exactly. It was your idea, anyway.” He removes the clasps connecting Derek to the electric generator, trying to be as careful as possible in the limited time he has. Derek is shirtless and bloody, which Stiles isn’t going to think about now because if he gets any angrier his head will pop off, drill through the ceiling, and blow a hole through Kate.

“The ritual actually worked?”

“Scott’s as human as they come now,” Stiles agrees as he undoes the last of Derek’s bindings. “Quick catchup: your uncle Peter’s the alpha—” his wolf pokes his paw out at that “—my alpha, and he’s upstairs with Kate. More explanations later, alright?”

“I’m going to kill her,” Derek promises, striding toward the stairs. He doesn’t look back as he says, “Thanks, Stiles.”

Stiles follows him up the basement stairs to find Peter and Kate in a standoff and Kate with more ammunition.

“Are you really going to stand with the man who killed your sister?” she asks. Up close, Stiles can almost see why Derek fell head over heels for her as a dumb teenager. She has an ultra-competent, evil kind of vibe that reminds him of Lydia on her worst days. Her gun is pointed at Peter, who doesn’t seem worried about it.

Rather, he eyes Derek’s shifted form. “Against the woman who killed the rest of our family? I rather think he will.”

Derek scowls at him. “Until she’s dead anyway.”

“Thank you, nephew.”

“I’ll tear out your throat afterward.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“And you?” Kate asks, raising an eyebrow at Stiles. “You aren’t the one I expected to see—”

“—I’m full of surprises—”

“—but you’re willing to stand with the alpha who mauled you?”

The faint smugness he sees in Peter’s expression should not be so reassuring, but it is. His wolf is thrilled to know its alpha accepts Stiles, that it’s not done grudgingly but with pride and returned loyalty. Whatever his reasons, Peter wants him, and Stiles can’t deny that he wants to be right here. He won’t share his wolf or his place in Peter’s pack with Scott; this is his alone.

“I’m right where I’m supposed to be,” Stiles tells her.

A second later, he’d ducking back down the stairs as Kate starts shooting, obviously having realized that the only thing that could splinter their group is her own death. Peter’s roaring and Stiles feels the call in his bones. His way clear now, he jumps out to add a strike before Derek or Peter leaves the killing blow. Three werewolves against a hunter who’s almost out of bullets isn’t going to Kate’s way. Her latest bullet doesn’t even hit near any of them, going through one of the already bullet-ridden posts instead. Stiles startles as the house wavers around them.

Kate’s closest to the doorway. She only has to take a step back before she can safely say, “You are, all of you,” an unholy joy in her eyes.

Werewolf speed isn’t enough. Stiles leaps toward an open window, but still gets caught as the house crumbles around atop all three of them. It would’ve killed him were he human, and even as a werewolf it’s too much. Stiles blacks out and it must’ve only been for a second because the next thing he knows, someone steps on the wooden plank over his head. Stiles can’t help his startled, pained noise, but when the plank is lifted, it’s not either of the people he wants to see.

“You may not be a Hale by blood, but you have that same cockroach-like obstinacy,” Kate says. She turns away for a few moments.

Stiles has enough time to force himself to think through the pain about how much blood a werewolf can lose and live, and how much he’s already lost. His whole body feels like one big aching wound. He broke his arm once as a kid, but that pain was nothing on this. His wolf is howling at the back of his head and it won’t stop, it can’t seem to stop.

“Don’t,” Stiles manages to get out as Kate approaches with a smaller plank. The perfect size for easing Stiles into death.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s going to be beaten to death in the remains of a house that’s basically a graveyard with all the death that’s happened here. The ash is filled with the remains of the Hales who died six years ago, Laura was reburied only feet away, and Stiles can’t tell if there are another two heartbeats in the rubble. There’s only pain and trying to breathe and a madwoman coming closer.

He’s terrified and hurt, but at the same time there’s anger bubbling under Stiles’ skin. It’s red and hot, not alpha-red but something else. He’s never been an angel. Stiles will be the first to admit it. But he doesn’t deserve a death in this fucking house just when he finally found somewhere to belong. He wants the future his wolf had imagined, running with his Alpha and curling into Peter and kissing that stupid smirk of his and continuing to be alive. He’d hated Kate on Peter and Derek’s behalf, because no matter what the Hale fire hadn’t been a tragedy for him personally, but now he hates her with a passion that’s entirely his own. Kate Argent is a monster. There shouldn’t be a piece left of her in this world and yet she’s going to drive away—his baby is right there, she might even steal his car, and that shouldn’t be important when she might steal his life, but Stiles can’t get over the tragedy of her driving his mom’s car—and live after snuffing out so many people.

He wants her to die. He wants her to suffer as she’s made so many people suffer. He wants—

Something inside him breaks, and the wolf goes silent for the first time since Stiles woke up. Kate’s saying something, maybe one last taunt, but Stiles doesn’t give a shit because there’s fire instead of pain in his veins. It’s comfort instead of fear, warmth instead of heat.

It’s I’m going to live, and it’s Kate becoming enveloped in flames before his eyes.

Peter’s standing in front of Cora Hale’s grave marker. Stiles comes to a stop next to him without bothering with words.

“Talia often told me I shouldn’t have favorites,” Peter eventually says. “But that’s ridiculous. She had enough of them that Cathy and I could choose our favorites to spring gifts and surprise trips on. Neither she nor I wanted any of our own, so our sister’s brats were enough. Cora was a tornado disguised as a werewolf. She was ten.”

“I remember her,” Stiles says, his gaze on the stone marker. There’s nothing but her name and two dates; the generic funeral words are all on the memorial stone. “She bit Jackson in the shoulder so hard he needed stitches. Got suspended, but Jackson didn’t bully a single person for the rest of elementary school.” John had sternly told him not to follow her example no matter how much he hated Jackson, but Stiles just gave her a chocolate bar as thanks.

“Talia sent her over to me for her suspension, said maybe I could explain things like secrecy and we do not bite humans to her in a way her parents couldn’t seem to get into her head.”

“Did you?”

“We spent a lot of time at the zoo and my animal kingdom comparisons probably didn’t help much,” Peter says, sounding fond anyway. “She was a good kid. // got the oldest and youngest to play aunt with, but she got the short end of the stick.”

“And you got Cora… and Derek,” Stiles adds. It makes sense of why Peter isn’t as angry as he could be, why Derek’s blood isn’t on Peter’s claws. “You should tell him the truth,” Stiles says, then amends his words to, “Some of the truth, anyway. We could use when we go against Kate.”

“I could simply make another beta.” His tone is too innocent to be serious.

Stiles rolls his eyes, looking up from the grave marker to see Peter already watching him. “Someone who’s so green they’ll be tripping over their claws for a week?”

“Canon-fodder,” Peter says with a smirk, turning around and walking toward the parking lot.

Kindling, Stiles thinks, and cringes. Nope, he’s not saying it. A few long steps and he’s walking beside Peter. “Where are we going?”

Peter takes the passenger seat of Stiles’ seat without answering. Once Stiles is in the car, Peter turns to him and says, “Show me your shift.”

Stiles looks around, but there’s no one there but the two of them. If ghosts are real along with werewolves, he doesn’t see any. It’s as easy as breathing to shift to his beta form. He can see his claws pop out and can feel the fur coming up on the sides of his face. His sense of smell feels a thousand times more sensitive in this form. The scents of earth and nature and the gas inside his car and the apple core somewhere under his seat distract him, but only for a moment. It’s hard to be distracted when his Alpha is right there. His wolf is closer to the surface in this form. It strains forward and Stiles goes with only a little hesitation. Peter’s not going to laugh at him; at worst, he’ll just be overly smug, and his wolf doesn’t care about pride.

Stiles had thought he’d imaged it last night, but no. Running his nose across the line of Peter’s neck, scenting him, is the best feeling in the world. Peter smells like man, wolf, comfort, home. He smells of power and strength, surety settled in his skin. Stiles all but turns into a puddle when Peter does the same in return. He blames it on his wolf, and that’s mostly it, but he doesn’t think he would’ve been able to feel nothing even as a human.

“My sweet beta,” Peter says, nipping Stiles’ jaw before he lets go.

Stiles’ skin is still warm in every place Peter touched. He immediately shifts back, feeling embarrassed about the whole thing. “That was just instinct.”

“You have good instincts,” Peter tells him. “You’ll need to use them. Drive toward the preserve. It’s where Kate is holding Derek captive.”

“She’s what?” Stiles yells even as he’s jamming his keys in their slot and shifting gears. His Jeep makes a sharp sound at the way he jams on the gas to get them out of the parking lot. Stiles pats his baby’s dashboard and mentally tells her it’s no time to break down. Derek’s a dick, but he doesn’t want him dead. “And instead of telling me earlier like a normal person, you decided to hang around the graveyard? She could be killing him already!”

“She still needs him,” Peter tells him, his voice infuriatingly even. “Derek is the only link she has to who she really wants. She’s counting on the alpha coming to save him.”

“Which you are.” Stiles swallows down his anger. “Is this enough torture for you to forget Derek’s role in the past even if you can’t forgive him? Because you can’t be his alpha and go around letting him be tortured by hunters.”

“I’m his uncle, not his alpha,” Peter corrects. “Our pack bond withered away in the years after the fire.” At Stiles’ unimpressed look, he adds, “I didn’t realize you liked him so much that you wanted him in our pack.”

“Derek is a growly, pushy dick who couldn’t give me and Scott some clear answers even when his life depended on it.” He and Scott had wasted so much time trying to figure things out on their own. And yet… “But the entire time I’ve known him, he’s been grieving his sister who you killed. She was a shitty alpha to you, but she was good to him, and he came back to a town he hasn’t been in since his family died only to bury his sister. He’s not Kate, alright?” While he has his chance, Stiles adds, “Neither are Allison or her parents.”

“As far as we know.”

“If you haven’t found proof of Chris and Victoria being involved yet, then they weren’t,” Stiles says. He trusts his dad’s research and Peter’s initial findings. “You can’t judge them based on things they haven’t done.”

“You’re entirely too lenient.” With a put-upon sigh, Peter adds, “I blame your upbringing as a cop’s kid.”

Stiles takes his right hand off the wheel just to flip him off. “I’m literally about to murder someone with you. Be grateful for that much.”

Peter takes his hand, threading their fingers together as he lowers it to the space between their seats. His grip is loose, but Stiles’ concentration is still split between the road and every point his skin touches Peter’s.

“I am grateful,” Peter says. “I chose Scott with the surge of power through my veins and the light of the full moon on my back. As much as I tried to reconcile my choice later, I couldn’t. He’s not the one I wanted. And then you corrected my mistake and chose me in turn in a set of specific and enormously rare circumstances. I’m keeping you Stiles, and that’s a decision you won’t be able to correct unless you tear your fangs through my throat.”

“I’d do it,” Stiles says, but he tightens his grip around Peter’s hand not to hurt him but to have more of him. “If you give me a reason. You had your moment of madness and I don’t give a shit about Kate, but it has to stop there.”

“And that’s one of the reasons why you’re infinitely more useful than Scott.”

“I still haven’t forgotten your lack of explanations about this enormously rare circumstance, but Derek’s life is more important than my curiosity.” Probably. Definitely. Stiles scowls at the road and adds another five miles to his speed. First Derek, then answers, then… His wolf has ideas for what happens then, but Stiles bats it away.

“Just once, but I think I’ve got a handle on it,” Stiles says, which is another thing he needs to ask Peter about. His control is a lot better than Scott’s was at this stage. He doesn’t doubt it has something to do with the thing Peter hasn’t told him about. He’s about to tell Scott everything that happened since they’d done the ritual, but Jackson tracks them down minutes after the first bell.

As he comes up to them, Jackson says, “I want to try the ritual again. Maybe we did something wrong last time.”

He smells like desperation. Stiles’ wolf likes it in that vicious, spiteful way that Stiles tries not to give into too much. But mostly, it’s just irritating.

“If it failed, it failed,” Stiles tells him. It would’ve been more convenient if the ritual had just worked for Jackson. Rationally, Stiles is fully aware of that. But irrationally, instinctively, his wolf curls around him and thinks hard about biting Jackson for the very idea that it could’ve not existed. “Besides, it’s done. Scott’s not a werewolf anymore.”

Beside him, Scott nods. “I can prove it to you if you want. No healing, no super strength anymore.”

Stiles continues before Scott can say anything else. “We gave it to Derek’s uncle, you know, Peter Hale? The guy that’s been in a coma all these years? We’re hoping that the bite will help him wake up.”

Jackson looks like he’s going to try to rip his throat out with his very human teeth. (Stiles would love to see him try.) “What the hell, McCall? We had a deal. I need the bite.”

“And what exactly are you going to do about it?” Stiles asks, rolling his eyes. “You can’t blackmail Scott for being a former werewolf.”

Jackson doesn’t take it well, but Stiles doesn’t really give a shit. He didn’t care much about Jackson before all of this and now he knows he can slam Jackson against the wall without any effort at all. Jackson isn’t worth it. He’s a pain in the ass and if he starts trying to get at Peter, Stiles will deal with him so the idiot doesn’t get himself killed, but until then he isn’t worth the attention. It’s somewhat disturbing how little his wolf cares about anyone except for Scott and his dad. Even Lydia, who Stiles the human adores, doesn’t factor into the wolf’s mind. It doesn’t see her as worth the effort. She doesn’t value him, so the wolf doesn’t value her. Pragmatism at its finest.

The wolf’s priorities are Stiles, then Stiles’ dad, then Scott, then Peter. If Peter ends up being a good Alpha, Stiles has no doubt that his ranking could rise a notch in Stiles’ lizard brain. Stiles makes a mental note to keep track of that, because his wolf is rather good at rushing into things and is already way too attached to Peter Hale.

As he watches Jackson storm out, Stiles turns to Scott and says, “If Allison’s dad asks, you were on steroids and it was the worst decision of your life and you regret it a lot. He has no proof you were ever a werewolf.”

“Bro.”

“Bro. Rip it off like a bandaid and tell him you’re making up for it by focusing on the things that matter, like the people you love and your education,” Stiles replies. “If he finds out about me being a werewolf, he’ll just assume the Alpha bit me.”

Scott looks like he wants to argue, but he ends up giving in. “Alright. But I’ve only taken one steroid.”

He says it with such a straight face that Stiles wants to smack himself. The Argents are going to find out that Stiles is a werewolf; it’s inevitable, really. Not only because of Scott, but because he doubts he’ll be able to be inconspicuous hanging around Derek and Peter. He just needs the secret to last until Kate’s out of the picture. Chris isn’t great, but at least he doesn’t burn families alive. 

Stiles tells Scott the summarized version of everything he’s learned, keeping Peter’s name out of it at his wolf’s insistence. He really has to do something about how much his wolf likes Peter. He also really has to do something about the fact that Stiles doesn’t exactly hate him, either.

The next bell rings before Scott can ask too many questions, so Stiles just waves to Scott and tells him he’ll see him at lunch. He spends most of math concentrating on blocking out all the smells and sounds around him and developing a headache. Biology involves trying to subtly pinch his nose at the lingering smells from last month’s frog dissection unit. By economics, he’s mostly gotten the hang of everything except the giant headache, but with a lot of reluctance, he comes up to Finstock’s desk after class.

“Stilinski! Ready for the game?”

“About that, coach…” It stings. He’d only just gotten onto first line this month. He hasn’t even played one real game. His dad was even going to come to this one. “I have to quit the team. I’m sorry.”

Finstock gapes at him. “I’ve heard this just a few weeks ago from McCall. Are you two trying to sabotage our team? You can’t quit unless you have a very good reason and you don’t look like you’re on the verge of death. Is it meth? Is that it? I couldn’t figure out if McCall was having a sexuality crisis or if it was drugs.”

Stiles doesn’t even know what to say to that. “It’s not meth and I had my sexuality crisis ages ago.” Now he just has a werewolf crisis. “I just need to concentrate on my schoolwork. I’m nearly failing chemistry.”

“Everyone’s nearly failing chemistry, that’s no reason to quit the team,” Finstock scoffs.

“It is to my dad,” Stiles says, trying to look put out about it. “He’s really upset with me, but he said if I pull my grades up, I can play next year.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Stilinski,” Finstock says, shaking his head, but he accepts the excuse.

Stiles just really hopes his coach doesn’t talk to his dad. He can just imagine how that conversation would go. Maybe he could think of a suitable lie to tell his dad later, when there aren’t fifteen other things he has to do and a crushing headache pounding at his brain. Instead of being bothered by the pain, his wolf is only pacing excitedly, which doesn’t diffuse Stiles’ worry. Dammit, it would’ve been so much easier if Jackson had been able to do the ritual. Jackson would’ve gotten himself killed by the Argents within weeks and Stiles wouldn’t have had to quit first line. His life is infinitely more important than playing a sport, but still.

He all but stomps his way to his next class, then goes for his and Scott’s usual table in the cafeteria. Scott saved him a seat next to him, but Allison’s on his other side, and half the popular clique surround them. Stiles is honestly relieved. Everything is so hectic that he doesn’t know how to talk to Scott about it. Now he has a good enough reason not to.

Stiles sits down next to Scott and wiggles his eyebrow’s over in Allison’s direction. “I see there’ve been new developments.”

Scott grins at him in a way Stiles hasn’t seen in a long while. There’s no hint of fear in Scott’s eyes, no worry about Allison’s family or about accidentally hurting Allison. “We’re back together!”

Lydia shoots a look at them from Allison’s other side. “She took pity on you, that’s all.”

Allison sighs at the both of them, but she can’t keep the smile from her lips. “Maybe just a little.”

“I had an asthma attack in the middle of gym and didn’t have my inhaler,” Scott explains to Stiles, sharing a fond look with Allison. “Allison took me to the nurse and stayed with me. We started talking and she said she’d give me another chance.”

“Only if you’re honest with me from now on,” Allison cuts in.

“I promise,” Scott tells her.

Stiles is relieved when he realizes he can hear the lie in Scott’s heartbeat. So that’s what Derek had been talking about earlier. It’s not as simple as his heart simply skipping a beat with the lie. The beat of Scott’s heart gets thrown off at the lie, but it’s in combination with everything else Stiles can feel from him. Deception has a noticeable scent. So does guilt, and so does love. Stiles pats Scott’s leg under the table in thanks. He stays for most of the lunch period, his attention divided between his headache, Scott’s attempts to not spend the entire period focused on Allison, and his own occasional attempts to get Lydia’s attention. He tries twice before he’s just forced to give into the fact that every enhanced sense he has is telling him that she’s just not interested. Lydia doesn’t hate him, but she just doesn’t care about him. It aches, but it’s less of a let-down that Stiles would’ve expected it to be. He’s had to face so many hard truths over the past weeks and his feelings for Lydia aren’t life and death. It probably helps that he can feel his wolf nudging him along the path of practicality.

He leaves lunch early, saying he has to talk to Finstock about something, and turns a few corners to get to a less used area of the school. His head feels like it’s going to explode; his wolf feels like it’s doing backflips on every one of Stiles’ aching nerves. Stiles considers whether going to the nurse for some Advil would help. Maybe if he took five…

Stiles’ claws shoot out, prickling at his temples as he groans through the pain. His wolf is howling, howling, howling—

And then it’s joined by another howl. It’s all in his head, but it feels so real that it makes his head spin. He knows the other wolf; his own wolf does too, bounding between Stiles’ end of the connection and their Alpha’s. Stiles can only catch glimpses of Peter’s wolf through the bond, dark fur and red eyes and power. Fuck, Stiles can feel it through the bond, but it’s more exhilarating than terrifying. Peter’s wolf doesn’t snarl at Stiles’ own, bigger and badder as it is. They meet as pack, real pack, and if this is what Peter used to have with his family, Stiles understands how easy it would’ve been to go mad with the loss of such a bond. Distantly, he can feel Peter himself, unhurt except for the minuscule ache of the top layer of his skin on his right side.

It’s easier to ignore the bond than it had been the headache, which is gone completely now. It’s a comforting presence in the back of his mind, quiet until Stiles—or Peter, he assumes—has need of it. Stiles gets through the rest of the day without trying to kill anyone and pats himself on the back for it. No murder on his conscience yet. His wolf finds the concept of murder weighing down a conscience amusing, but Stiles flicks it on the nose. Bad instincts. Very bad instincts.

Scott finds him by his locker at the end of the day. “Ready for lacrosse practice? It’s going to be great, you’ll see.”

“Sorry, I decided to quit,” Stiles says, shrugging and trying not to care. He knows deliberately holding back and working hard to control himself every second would be hell. It’s bullshit, okay, but being practical now actually hurts. He likes lacrosse. He’d waited a whole year and a half to do anything other than warm the bench. But if he lets on on how he feels, he knows Scott will do his best to keep Stiles on the field—hey, it didn’t go that badly for me, right?—and Stiles doesn’t need more problems. “I want to work on our furry little problem first. Maybe next year, alright?”

“Is that a Harry Potter reference?” Scott asks, rolling his eyes.

“I’m going to be making references all over the place now, deal with it,” Stiles replies with a grin. “Besides, lacrosse was never my thing anyway. And I wouldn’t want to steal your show.”

“But I’m going to suck now,” Scott says. He looks like someone punched him in the heart. Oh, Scottie boy.

“You spend all of break training for this,” Stiles assures him. “Remember? You did push-ups and pull-ups like mad, ran with your inhaler on a loop around your neck, and we spent hours working on your reflexes. Sure, you’ll need to start training again, but all your werewolf power built on what was already there. Also, you can’t possibly let Jackson be better than you again.”

“He would be so smug.”

“Unbearably smug,” Stiles says, nodding.

Scott bumps his shoulder against Stiles’ as they walk down the hall. “Thanks, Stiles.”