Title: Assertion
Author: ThirstySatyr
Rating: T, for language
Standard Disclaimer: Not mine. MTV's.
Chapter 1: Assertion
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Summary: Three weeks ago, she rolled into town with a backpack, two speeding tickets, and a goal.
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She was the newest werewolf in the pack.
Three weeks ago, she rolled into town with a backpack, two speeding tickets, and a goal. Being the lowest ranked member of the disjointed Hale pack had not been a part of that goal. She was ambitious, and she was determined. And if she had to fight her way up, then she'd apologize about the claw marks later.
But it would take time. Luckily, she was patient.
For the most part.
Taking up the spot she'd staked out as hers, the left-most cushion on the end of the drab couch, she kicked off her boots, and curled up for what was likely to be a boring evening. These meetings at the Hale house took place once every other month, at the new moon, supposedly as a way to keep everyone informed and no one in danger of unsuspected death. From what she'd heard from Boyd, these meetings were never pleasant occurrences; made mostly of growls, accusations, and threats, the implication was that their supposed purpose was never achieved.
Even though this was her first, she couldn't help but think that this particular meeting of the-people-who-were-mostly-not-trying-to-kill-one-another was turning out to be significantly more calm than she'd been lead to believe. Sure, there were glares. But not a single shine of wolf had leaped into anyone's eyes, and not a single snarl had drawn fangs from otherwise soft mouths. It was almost boring.
Patience, she reminded herself.
With a flourish from the women-child hunter, and a grunt of approval from the not-Alpha, the meeting ended on a surprisingly high note. Everyone agreed to share about the most recent unpleasantness, and they would meet again in two months. The shuffling of feet and the growl of departing cars became the coda as the house emptied.
Within minutes, almost everyone had left, and she uncurled enough from her corner to lean over the back of the couch and watch the jerking movements of the last human. He was friends with the not-Alpha of the antagonistic members of the pack – the ones that didn't like admitting they belonged. And, in his own way, he was the brains of that particular operation, the driving force and beating heart. He was respected, loved, protected. Ranked.
As he pulled his coat off the back of a dinner chair, his eyes darted over her; an idle observation that someone was looking at him, and an immediate dismissal.
"Hi," she said, grabbing his attention. She wanted to be patient. She really did.
But sometimes waiting took too much time.
When the boy looked up, she let her mouth pull into a wide, saw-blade smile.
The boy blinked rapidly at her, nervously looking between her teeth and her eyes.
"Um…. hello?" he replied as his body language shifted. It was a defensive shift, his shoulders turning to her squarely, his hips angling away toward the door. Whether he knew it or not, it was the posture of prey ready to run. Whether he knew it or not, with that one word, he was treating her like a threat.
Maybe it wasn't the word. Maybe it was the smile.
"Would you prefer I called you Nim?" she asked, softening the curve of her lips, and letting her voice get low, and slow, and poison-sugar sweet.
It took nearly an entire second before the boy reacted. But when he did, it was explosive.
"What!? No! No, no, no. Stiles. Is my name. My name is Stiles," he nearly shouted, emphasizing the words with a wild-eyed glare and a sharp jab of a finger to his own chest. "My dad calls me Stiles. My friends call me Stiles. I write it on my school work. Just Stiles."
She crossed her arms along the back of the couch, and let her weight sink down.
The boy licked his lips in a nervous gesture. "Come on, just… Stiles. It's not hard. All my friends do it."
One of her eyebrows arched, and she gave him a thoughtful hum. "And why would I want to be your friend?" she asked flatly.
"'Cause… I'm funny. And I make great cookies," he offered with a flippantly nervous laugh. Then he swallowed, and his eyes went hard. "And I was in this pack before it was a pack. I was here long before you – if I ask… well… there's no telling what will happen…"
If the stiff line of his jaw was anything to go by, the boy was serious.
She leaned forward, letting her weight rock over the back of the couch. He retreated a step, bumping loudly against the wall between him and the way out.
"Are you threatening me?" she asked into the small distance between them.
Wide brown eyes looked at her, searching for a give that didn't exist. If anything, she just smiled a little wider, letting her lips pull away from the sharp line of her teeth.
"Come on," he tried again. "Don't… don't be like that. Its a bitch move, dude."
She chuckled. "Too late," she said, and touched a finger to her jaw. "Female canid."
The boy wilted.
"Please," he said, openly pleading now. "Please, don't… just. Anything, okay? Whatever you want, just don't…"
Shifting back onto the couch, she gave a lazy all-over stretch, then leveled her gave.
"Cookies," she said. "Once a week."
The boy gaped, clearly shocked. He shook his head like a dog trying to get water out of its ears, and when that didn't work, he just looked at her. After a moment, he managed a weak "What?"
"Once a week, you're going to bake me cookies," she said evenly.
When all he did was continue to stare, she pulled her phone from her sweatshirt pocket, and thumbed over the screen. "How did you spell that again? H… E…"
The boy flailed and shouted, "Fine! Fine! Just stop!"
She let her phone drop back to her lap with a sigh. "Cookies," she led.
"Fine, yes, cookies," he grumbled back.
"Once a week?" she continued.
The boy glared, and nodded sharply. "Yeah, once a week. Whatever," he snapped before grabbing his backpack and stomping , loudly, from the living room, through the entry, and out the door.
The harsh cough of an engine coming to life signaled the boy's final departure.
Smiling lazily, she stretched out over the length of the couch, and let her hands slide into her sweatshirt pockets. With a contented hum, she closed her eyes and waited.
"What the hell was that?" Derek asked once the quiet had settled back over the forest.
Meeting his gaze, she shrugged loosely. "Oh, you know, just asserting my dominance."
The Alpha gave her a cold, blank look. Until a week ago, it had been something of an intimidating look. But that was before she realized it usually translated to a dumbfounded 'huh.'
She didn't bother to answer.
"Couldn't you just – throw him around or something?" he eventually asked, sounding confused and possibly insulted.
"No," she answered as she pushed herself back into a sitting position. "Shoving would've just been a waste. That kid is so used to getting the crap beat out of him, he pretty much expects it now. He thinks it's normal. Usual. Sure, he reacts to getting roughed up – he reacts to just about anything - but in the end, he just takes it and moves on with his life."
She retrieved her shoes from where she'd kicked them off earlier, and pulled each one on with a sharp tug. "He knows he's physically weak," she continued, shrugging like that was hardly worth reiterating. "Me using violence to point that out wouldn't do a damn thing – if anything, it'd make him think less of me. I'd be just another push, just another shove. Just one more bruise among all the others."
She shrugged again, "I'd barely be worth noticing."
After finishing both shoes with a tight bow, she pushed up from the couch and stretched.
"But screwing with someone's head?" she said with a smile, letting the joy of the thought bring a quick light to her eyes. "That will get me noticed... And I get cookies, so, a win all around."
Derek stayed silent, and just gave her that cold, blank stare again.
"Gotta go. Later," she called as she sauntered from the house and out to her car.
She waited until she'd driven five miles before she pulled her phone from her pocket, and turned the speaker off of mute.
"You get all that, Betty Baker?" she asked, barely suppressing laughter.
"Hell yeah," Stiles's voice rang from the phone. "I think I may have actually heard his face go blank."
Turning North onto the road that headed farther out of town, she let herself laugh with the boy.
"Wouldn't be surprised if you had," she replied.
The conversation fell then, and she let the silence draw out. She was patient, and she certainly didn't feel the need to fill up the quiet.
Stiles did, though.
"So… you, ah… you're good at playing people, aren't you?" Stiles asked after only twenty seconds.
Her eyes closed for a moment, and she suppressed the urge to laugh, this time at the boy rather than with him.
"You should see me with a piano," she said, shrugging in the dark of her car.
"Ha, yeah. Um… listen, I know it was the plan for you to make a show of intimidating me, and all. Get Derek to back off some. Make me look all pathetic and stuff. But, uh, what you said... almost said... that was kind of a low blow."
"You're right," she answered quickly. "It was a tender subject for me to pry at."
Stiles's breath was soft for a moment. "Yeah, um…" he said, sounding hesitant. Because what she'd said definitely didn't qualify as an apology, and the boy was far too smart to have missed that.
"Right. And, ah… I don't really have to bake you cookies once a week, do I?" he asked, sounding hopeful and dejected all at once.
She shifted gears and pressed a little harder on the accelerator.
"How else to keep up the charade?"
The boy on the other end of the line had no answer for that.
"Gotta go," she said after a moment, not bothering to keep the smile from her voice. "Later."
She disconnected the call with a swipe of her thumb, then pressed just a little more on the gas pedal.
Sure, she was the newest werewolf in the pack. But she was patient.
Three weeks ago, she rolled into town with a backpack, two speeding tickets, and a goal. And if she had to fight her way up, then she'd apologize about the claw marks later.