CW: Minor gore, implied violence/death/murder, (implied) character death (don't know what to call it).
A/N: This is my first public share in a long time. I'm experimenting with darker and more adult subject matter. This is a one-shot that developed a massive backstory, so if things go well there might be a series. Second A/N follows.
"There's not enough love…" the pale, skinny boy shouted as he sprawled in a gangling splay of limbs across the passenger seat. His palms drummed against the dashboard, thumping a dull exhilaration.
"What is it now," the older, muscled, pinch-mouthed man in the driver's seat hissed, more to himself than anything else. His ice-blue eyes rolled along with his head as he dragged his attention from the road. "Elaborate," he demanded.
"That's what this is about, isn't it?" The boy grinned a cocky little grin that made the man twitch. "There ain't enough love in the world to take you down, is there?" He emphasized the uncharacteristic 'ain't' in his vocabulary, evoking something lyrical, as he stared the man down, eyebrows bouncing, mockingly.
He shifted left, stabbing an accusatory finger in the direction of the creeping bloodstains on the man's shirt.
"Your sister could rise from the dead, wrap you in her arms, give you her power and swear her devotion, and it still wouldn't be enough. That's how damaged you are," he fashioned his words into emotional weapons as best he could. "You never got enough, and now you won't give anyone the chance to show you even a hint of love or affection. The bodies are just gonna keep piling up, and that won't be enough either. You're just gonna watch the world burn…"
The boy's dark amber eyes danced as they bore into him, daring him to deny the armchair analysis.
"Stiles…" The man's voice rose to a growl in the back of his throat, warning the boy off.
"Peter," Stiles said, responding with a deranged sort of defiance. His body language opened again when Peter didn't continue. With a foot on the dash and an arm slung over the seat-back he watched Peter's eyes blaze an impossible shade as he appraised Stiles, the growl now low and continuous. And hungry.
"Careful," Peter warned again. The drying blood cracked from his fingers as he strangled the steering wheel.
"Or what?" Stiles spat. "You'll kill me?"
"Again?" Stiles's face split with maniacal laughter and he threw his head back. It was a calculated laughter, the angling of his bare neck intentional. The laughter ceased, but he left his neck displayed, licking his lips with a gleeful satisfaction at the response he elicited.
The boy shifted, changing as Peter watched the brash performance. The always pale skin now ashen grey, the amber eyes going milky and dark. A blood-black line traced beneath his chin, from ear to ear, and stains not unlike those blooming on Peter's own shirt coated the boy's grimy clothes. It was the appearance of the scabbed ring of a bite, though, puckering the surrounding tissue, that really pulled the frayed cord inside Peter.
He howled with impotent rage and frustration. His dangerous blue eyes locked onto the road. He threw the car into drive and barreled away from the shoulder in a hail of spitting gravel and a cloud of dust.
Another peal of cold laughter rang out over the engine's roar.
A/N: Like I said, I've been playing with darker themes. This was short, but if you liked it, I'd like to have that feedback. If it totally didn't work for you, I'd like to know why on that, too. This is my first share with this username, but I have published in the past, so don't feel you have to give me any "first time, be nice" pity if you don't like it. But don't be a dick, either. Thanks for reading.