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The thing about being a werewolf is it isn’t all smash and roar. Well, it seems no one told the werewolves that. Specifically, the Alpha werewolf who Stiles had just gotten the jump on.
“What never seen a baseball bat before?”
Apparently, the alpha was foreign or just dumb enough to open his mouth and roar in Stiles face.
Please refer to inner werewolf code of conduct. Roar = Smash.
Alphas throat meet baseball bat. Alpha’s head meet Stiles killer home run swing.
He really was wasted on lacrosse.
“And that’s why they call it America’s pastime folks.”
“Ew.” Erica scrunched her nose at the blood oozing from the Alpha’s twitching corpse
Peter licked his lips trading a look with Stiles that racked shivers up his spine and slunk away.
The rest of the pack edged around the spill leaving Stiles to clean up.
He sighed and turned to head to his Jeep. First mistake.
With a choked snarl the Alpha sank his teeth into his thigh.
He was in motion before he even registered moving to whack the Alpha’s cranium further in.
Little bits of brain matter were everywhere even on his face.
Gross.
“Right then that will show me not to kick them while their down.” Second mistake.
Stiles cleared his throat side eyeing the bite. “Looks like that's going to leave a mark.”
So maybe being a werewolf wasn’t all it’s cracked out to be.
Sure super strength, throw open the door hard enough to pull it off the hinges.
Super speed, enough to save yourself from the ensuing face plant after the door failed to remain attached to wall.
Super hearing plenty so you could experience in full surround sound the screeching of bent metal from the aforementioned door.
Yeah Stiles morning after is going great why do you ask?
The red eyes though, that was new.
“Dude.” Stiles said to his reflection. “This is some Sith type shit.”
He formed his hands waiting for lighting to shoot from his fingers.
Instead, his fingernails elongated into claws. “Not cool.” He pouted.
“There can only be one.” He intoned still hoping for lightning to shoot out.
Cause’ everyone knows to be a true Sith you have to kill you master to graduate. The thought of the Alpha from last night wound up his stomach worse than a python around a mouse.
Now wasn’t the time to get all bogged down with white-hate morals.
You did what had to be done he reminded himself. He'd do it again if it meant protecting them.
Besides Palpatine was the best no way was he being some whiny ass Anakin fucker
Unless. The coils around his heart squeezed.
Stiles grinned back into the mirror his smile housing far too many teeth.
“I’m Darth Vader.”
Stiles recited the first bit of the Sith code to himself. Anchors were passion and that gave you a sense of balance without the chains of peace. Hey if he’d made this gig work once for Scott. Then working out the gist of it with himself couldn’t be that hard.
Even if the loser didn’t sit down and watch Star Wars.
Stiles wasn’t a new chap to this werewolf and pony show.
That didn’t mean there wasn’t more he could learn. He was pretty sure there was a difference between being just a werewolf and just an Alpha werewolf with a capital A. Then that brought about a whole nother stream of questions. He pulled out his laptop.
- What equates Just a werewolf
- What equates just an Alpha werewolf
- What equates an ALPHA werewolf
He lingered on the last two questions. There was something in the way Talia Hales name was never outright spoken about. Only mentioned in reference to the burden of red eyes that gave him pause.
The way Peter, in turn, spat his sister's name equal parts a prayer and a curse when at his worst.
How Derek got occasionally when things involved his sister that she was considered an Alpha, his Alpha but not the Alpha. Nuances carried by tone and the set to the shoulders that no scowling face could hide.
It looked like he had a lot of work to do.
Cause Stiles didn’t want to be another asshole with red eyes.
He wanted to be that Alpha asshole with red eyes who no one fucked with twice.
Once cause got to let the bastards think they stand a chance.
Proper etiquette meant not to humiliating your opponent overmuch.
His mother had raised him right.
Reigning in the impulse to snap impertinent asses in half proved difficult. But every dog has it’s day and Jackson could bark all he wanted.
Because they both knew that even before this whole werewolf bussiness Stiles always aimed to bite.
Besides he’d had till Tuesday to find his inner Zen. (Bless teacher furlough days.) That plus a shit ton of psychology research had found him newly enlightened.
There's a fine line drawn at fussing in leadership. You want the doing of things to appear to be the other person's idea and them to even thank you in the process. He reminded himself.
To get the others to commit he first had to believe in the team, believe in the pack.
Strength is found in numbers and faith.
Jackson was Captain of the Lacrosse team (co-captain now) if ever there was a case of desperate want for belonging to rival Stiles own it was him. The one problem? He was Jackson meaning it made it awful difficult to do this whole rise above stuff. Stiles had a temper ok? All proper Sith did he couldn’t be blamed for wanting to force choke the dude. Whoah veering into uncomfortable Padme like territories. Vadar. . He was Vadar. Which meant he had to put on his big boy pants and treat Jackson as the blustering rooster deserved. Like a hysterical courier in a dime store novel. All bluster and bold proclamation for duels of honor over swooning ladies.
Lydia did not swoon. He had it on good repute Jackson did.
The repute being an unfortunate instance where innocent human Stiles forgot something in the locker room.
Which made his thoughts circle back to Lydia and how she owned the place with a click of her heels and the murmur of her voice. What would Batman be without his cowl or Vader without the mask and cape? He sighed fiddling with the end of his shirt and reached in his pocket for his phone. He had to admit appearances were important.
“Hey Lydia you owe me for the locker room.”
“Go on you have my attention.”
He took in a deep breath and bit the bullet.
“I’m thinking about doing a wardrobe lift.”
“I’d have offered that for free.”
“I’m keeping the plaid.” Boundaries are important.
Her sigh across the line could have sank ships.
“I suppose some things can’t be helped.”
This whole Alpha business went back to power. Peter had appeared like something out of a Lorde song. The guy even reached for his wrist a crooked smile resting on his lips.
Stiles had actually been looking into that lately. Looking back on it the whole offering the bite business was peculiar. Peter had given him a choice.
The Alpha who bit him had not.
It’s fittingly enough during the witching hour the night before a pack meeting that he stumbles on some truly interesting information about werewolves and their mates.
“The bastard tried to make me his Padme” Stiles grumbled compiling the information.
Not like he had gotten the chance before to ask Deaton about any of this and Derek always got a particularly constipated look.
He scanned the text with a huff. No wonder Peter had been blatant and forward as hell enough to insight scandal in some circles.
A mating bite hmm?
He took a moment to assess how he felt about that and found himself in both turns flattered and disturbed. Maybe somewhat impressed. Even then the wolf had wanted him.
An yeah Stiles was a teenager with a functioning libido and there may have been some exchanging of knowing looks but he wasn’t ruled by his dick. (Not all the time).
Peter’s crazy hand crazy being steered by another side helping of revenge as a whip. Granted that had changed since his Lazarus act but the man's nature had not. Stiles didn’t enjoy spending time with him because he was hot shit on two legs, that helped but there was more to it. Lately, it felt that way.
How off the wall had he been to offer Stiles the bite and bypass each stage of courting?
God but did Peter ever love stirring the pot two birds with one stone a bid for power and a shock factor.
He remembered the way Peter's hands had clasped his wrist, a lord brushing his lips to the top of a lady's hand in greeting.
That's it Stiles is nobody's distressed damsel.
He’s just going to have to make his own bid then, Han Solo style.
The first step gets them used to being in your vicinity. Pack meetings? Peter tended to share space with Stiles anyway. Check. Research sessions just the two of them? Double check. Now to just amp it up a little.
Who needed a five-year plan?
Peter didn’t verbally question his recent absence merely swung open the door to the apartment and yielded his space. Stiles had to dampen down the rumbling purr that threatened to rise at the motion. He didn’t make the distinction between himself and the wolf note entirely not to the dissociative levels Scott did. Stiles had gotten his fill of arguing with entities in his head for a lifetime. If he could beat the Nogitsune he could control every aspect of himself.
His wilder nature was nonetheless pleased to be in Peters den.
“Will you be staying long.”
“Just dropping these off.”
“Stiles -” Peter began.
“Have a cookie.” He interrupted dangling the snack in front of Peter. The man snatched it up.
“Are you trying to seduce me to the dark side?”
“No, Peter I’m not trying.” He smiled saccharine sweet. “I’m succeeding.”
“Is that so?” The wolf clearly knew something was up just not yet what.
“I’ll even pool my cookies with yours, sharing is caring you know.”
He set down a tub of Stilinski’s finest double chocolate chip hershey cookies with a wink.
“I’m going to leave this here give you some time to think it over.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. Unfair bastard he’d been trying to do that for years with little to no success the most he got was a two eyebrow wiggle. It must be a Hale thing.
Stiles reached the door and paused turning to face the counter again.
They stared at each other.
Peter took a bite of the cookie.
“Consider it a gift.” Stiles' eyes flashed red he dipped his head body bent in an almost bow of a distinctive and formal nature.
The cookie almost slipped out of Peter's' hands.
Ha!
Stiles left him like that lips twitching just beyond a smirk into a puzzled but pleased grin.
Oh yeah, he so was Leia.
“Hey, Stiles where have you been?”
On one two three like ripping off a band-aid.
Dealing with becoming an Alpha werewolf. Courting another ex- alpha werewolf. You bud?
“Around.”
“Oh.” Scott frowned.
“You missed a meeting.”
“You noticed?”
“Uh yeah.” Scott scratched the back of his head. “Lydia pointed it out.”
“So Lydia noticed.”
Scott smiled but it was drawn at the edges the lines near his eyes tight as he puzzled over his words.
“Look Stiles, I know I haven't been the best of friends lately but I do care.” He shuffled his feet eyes beguiling pleading from under the mop of his hair. “So truce?”
“On one condition.”
“Anything?”
“I dunno if you're up for anything Scotty.”
“I said anything and I meant it.”
“Ok-ok.” Stiles raised his hands. Scott stared.
"What do I have to do?"
“You gotta watch Star Wars.”
Scott groaned and shook on it.
“The shake is sacred boy now you have to.”
“Fine.” He whined knock shoulders with Stiles.
“Great my house tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Awesome.”
Scott didn’t see the way his friend's smile fell off his face.
Stiles didn’t notice when Peter slunk out of the background.
(If he did there was no sign, but the revving of the Jeep, to echo the man's footfalls.)
Commence phase two.