AN: This was a bit of a fun exercise for me, as I'm a Steter fan and I love dark humor (those two things are definitely not exclusive). This is un-beta'd and a creative exercise to try to encourage myself to keep writing. I hope you enjoy it regardless.

This is an AU oneshot in which Stiles has been a demon for about five years and is the same age as Derek. It mostly revolves around Stiles interactions with the plot to murder the Hales and what he does with this information.

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Teen Wolf or any associated characters or plots. I earn nothing from this, except experience and hopefully a kudos, comment, or constructive advice or two.

Stiles sighed loudly, running his fingers through the shadows that swirled in the air around him and watching as the black ripples curl gently around his wrist. It'd been quite some time since some hapless visitor had wandered into his little domain, an abandoned house on the south side of the preserve that was perhaps months away from collapsing after a long and bitter life of squalor.

Well, I suppose May's not the ideal month for thrill seeking, he thought with a slight pout. Halloween seems so far away. Stiles knew that he'd get a few unsuspecting customers in the summer: groups of hormonal teens looking to be frightened or trying to get some action. He certainly would have when he was a human. If any girl had ever given him the time of day, that is. He and Scott definitely would have done it.

Stiles flinches at that thought, an old ache throbbing in his chest. It'd been a long time since he'd last talked with his best friend. Five years…. He still checked up on him and his mom every now and then, watching from the shadows outside the living room window. He might have become a demon or a ghoul or something, but it's still a bro's duty to protect his best bro. Even if one bro thought the other was dead.

Being a demon wasn't all that Hollywood had led him to believe it would be. Sure, he had the pointy ears, sharp canine teeth, and red eyes that were stereotypical of demons, and he could control shadows, which was pretty awesome and goddamn useful, but he didn't make contracts for souls or have any particular desire to prey on the innocent. He always used to say that he would prank the shit out of people if he ever became a ghost, so his penchant for haunting this house really had more to do with his personality, but maybe he did become a bit more mischievous after becoming a demon (certainly as interested in sexy time, though thankfully without the hormone charged awkwardness of puberty). He did have to drink blood every now and then (the memory of discovering this need is embarrassing and traumatizing—but at least the hobo had enjoyed it), but he mostly made due with nicking some from the local blood bank once a month, drinking the cold liquid with a mixture of shame and guilt.

He wasn't even sure how he had become like this, how he had survived what had happened that day….

The front door clattered open in the floor below before slamming shut, startling Stiles from his lazy slouch. He slunk into the shadows and headed out of the upstairs bedroom as excitement bubbled like a laugh in his chest. Finally, some entertainment.

"…here and lock the door…fucking children…."

Stiles crept toward the banister to peek through the rotted handrails below, pulling the shadows around him to hide himself from view. Three figures dressed in black were milling about the entryway below, speaking in hushed whispers. He thought he could hear another walking along the creaky floorboards in the living room too.

"Hurry the fuck up. I don't want to be in this decrepit shit hole for long," the man next to the door grunted, glaring through the dirt covered window to the gravel road outside. "Never know when those rabid dogs might be lurking about."

"Relax, Cowan," one of the others laughed. Stiles watched as the woman pulled the hat from her head, silky dark blonde hair dancing around her shoulders. She leaned the large object in her hand against the archway leading into the living room and ran her hands through her hair, smirking as the men around her watched with interest. With a shock of unease, Stiles realized the object was a large crossbow, the sharp side of an arrowhead glinting in the dim light. One look around revealed that they were all carrying weapons: military grade assault rifles.

"I know for a fact that none of the Hale dogs sniff around this house. They think it's haunted," she jeered, drawing short laugh from one of her compatriots.

"Just because Loverboy and the puppies think it's haunted doesn't mean the adults don't come here on patrol," The one named Cowan warned, ever watchful of the window. "It wouldn't surprise me at all if this is one of Peter's dumping grounds."

Hale? Stiles recognized the name; anyone in Beacon Hills would. The Hales were one of the oldest and most prominent families in the area, large sprawling estate sitting in the center of the forest preserve well outside city limits. They were some of the elites in the town, with a family law firm, doctors and teachers, and plenty of children running around. Derek Hale, shy and socially awkward as he was, had been in the same year as Stiles five years ago; his mother Talia had been an old friend of Stiles' mother.

"Kate, seriously," a nervous voice issued from the third man. "Why couldn't we have had this meeting at the base?"

"I told you already, Rob. I can't have Chris hearing about this and butting in. I love'm, but he's way too straight-laced." She sighed fondly before straightening from her slouch against the wall.

"Yeah, as if we need a moral code to hunt down monsters," the fourth chimed in, apparently done surveying the living room.

Kate only smirked before becoming serious. "So, is everything in place?"

"As if it wouldn't be," Cowan grunted, his hands tightening on his rifle. "We've got enough firepower to set the whole forest ablaze."

"And the wolfsbane?"

"Three bags full," the fourth added.

"You made sure to get it from out of town, right?" Kate questioned sharply.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied dismissively. "The vet doesn't have a clue. Jeez, no trust."

"And what about from your end, Kate?" Cowan asked quietly. "Did you get it from the boy?"

"Derek was only to happy to tell me, poor thing," she purred, pushing out a lush lower lip and pouting before smirking wickedly. "In a month, they'll be having a family get-together, with uncles, aunts, grandparents, the whole litter. We'll have a window of three days to get the job done, but they'll be most tired after they all howl at the moon and run around in the forest, killing little woodland creatures."

"The day?"

"The 24th."

"Sounds like a plan," the fourth said eagerly, stroking the handle of his rifle.

"Should we head out then?" Rob asked anxiously, already moving toward the door.

"Sure, honey. No need to worry so much," Kate replied, lazily picking up her crossbow.

"What do you plan on doing in the meantime, Kate? About wolfboy?"

"Hmmm, not sure," she simpered, tapping her chin in thought. "Maybe I'll take his virginity. At least he won't die a virgin then."

They left after that, their snide laughter and hushed whispers fading down the driveway. Stiles sat with his back against the crumbling wall, his mind whirling. He was absolutely sure that he'd just heard four people planning to commit mass murder of the Hale family in a month's time. That made perfect sense. It was the other parts of that conversation that invited his obsessive curiosity: 'litter,' 'wolfboy,' 'howling at the moon,' 'puppies.'

That was really one too many dog-themed jokes to be entirely coincidental. (Stiles can appreciate a theme when he hears one.)

Unless he was completely crazy (admittedly a possibility—the most social interaction he's had in five years has been scaring the shit out of teenagers and squatters), the Hale family must be a pack of werewolves.

He'd have to do some digging.

(Pffft.)

Once he knew what to look for, it was painfully easy for Stiles to tell that most of the Hales were werewolves.

He'd taken to following behind some of the younger members of the family, namely Derek, Cora, and occasionally Laura Hale (though she was freakishly good at realizing when she was being watched), and all of those odd quirks he'd noticed in the past suddenly made perfect sense.

They could hear incredible well and over great distances. (He'd proved this by following Derek on one of his moody, angst-filled walks through the preserve and opening a can of Sprite almost forty yards behind him and slurping obnoxiously. The confused constipation on his face had been priceless.)

They were pretty sensitive to smell. (He'd proven this by placing twenty cloves of garlic (yes, he stole them-it's not like he can get a job) in a bag and following Cora around one Saturday afternoon as she was shopping with her friends. Apparently the constipated expression is hereditary.)

They were also incredible good at any athletic competition and were unreasonably attractive. (Stiles knows the former must be related to their wolfy natures and suspects the latter must be as well—even the Hale children he'd seen walking around town were just too adorable to be completely normal.)

He'd deemed it too dangerous (and tiresome) to attempt to interact with them personally, so he'd followed behind them with a hoodie drawn over his face and immersed in the shadows whenever it was dark enough to hide. The sharp points of his ears and canines, courtesy of the transformation he'd undergone, were easy enough to hide, but he had to be especially careful to cover his eyes with sunglasses; the red color seemed to unnerve people. After five years Stiles thought he had perfected his creeper skills enough to go unnoticed; he'd be a fucking boss level sneak in Skyrim.

But this tactic had proven precarious when he'd attempted to tail (pfft) Laura Hale as she was leaving the family law firm in downtown Beacon Hills. Almost instantly her eyes had focused on the alleyway from which he was watching, and for a moment he could've sworn they flashed bright red. He'd held firm and cloaked himself further in the shadows, waiting as she tilted her head curiously and gave a subtle sniff of the air before shrugging and climbing into her car (a sleek black Camaro—Nice).

Stiles had seen a similar reaction from another Hale as he was leaving the firm: a tall man, maybe in his early thirties, with short dark hair and perfectly trimmed facial hair around his mouth and chin. He'd looked as sharp as a fucking needle in that tailored black suit (probably some ridiculously expensive brand like Hugo Boss), and Stiles had felt his hormonal bi-flavored heart give a lurch in his chest (with a similar reaction from his dick—what, he's still got needs, and he's a lot less shy about showing them).

The Hale had been wearing a pair of sunglasses, so at first Stiles hadn't been sure that he'd been spotted, but the man's face had instantly turned in his direction. The Hale seemed to hesitate for a moment before heading in his direction with a long, graceful stride. Stiles had instantly abandoned his post, sprinting into the alleyway and using his shadows to propel him several blocks away from the firm. He waded into a huge throng of people wandering around the farmer's market stalls in the plaza, knowing he needed to scatter his smell quickly. Once he'd reached the opposite side of the courtyard, he'd sunk into the shadows behind a dumpster and had watched the crowd.

He could see the man standing at the end of the street from which they'd come, looking into the market with a small smirk on his lips. He pulled out a cellphone from inside his suit, flipped it open, and began to make his way back toward the firm. Stiles took a moment to appreciate the broad shoulders and firm ass of this Hale specimen, before continuing on his way back to his dilapidated home.

He resolved to maintain a healthy distance from the older Hales until he decided to act. He would have to soon. It'd been almost two weeks since he'd overheard that conversation in the house—time was running out.

Finding out more about the would-be assailants proved equally unchallenging. All he'd needed to do, really, was tail (ha-ha) Derek to discover the identity of Kate Argent.

And what he'd found was disgusting, enlightening, and a bit terrifying. Who'd have thought there would be a family of hunters, like actual Supernatural-esque werewolf hunters in podunk Beacon Hills, a town that only recently got a Target within ten miles of the city limits. Stiles was a bit disappointed he'd not ventured out before; it felt like all of his old magical nerd dreams were coming true right before his very eyes. He wished he could share it with Scott, but that thought was painful in a number of ways, so he pushed it aside.

It'd been rather painful, following Derek in the shadows as he met up with Kate in secret, watching as the older woman played him like a child's fiddle. A part of him that he'd thought had died with his parents ached for the innocence he could see in every shy blush on Derek's cheeks and every soft wistful sigh he made, the obvious signs of an awkward boy who'd thought he'd found love for the first time. Stiles himself had never had the chance for such things.

But an equal, if not greater, part of Stiles felt a cold kind of anger. There was no way the young werewolf was unaware of who Kate was, that she was a hunter from a quite large group of professional hunters. He must be able to smell the gunpowder on her hands, the silver tips of her weapons. Stiles could tell Kate was an excellent actress; there was no other way she could have snuck into Derek's vulnerable, angsty heart without making him even the least bit suspicious, especially with the amount of contempt he'd heard in her voice two weeks ago. But the logical, admittedly bitter part of his mind hated the easy trust Derek had offered, with all of his superhuman senses and knowledge of the danger hunters posed that must have warned him otherwise.

Stiles didn't like the thought of what might have happened had he not been around as a fly on the wall for that conversation between the hunters. He had every intention of intervening (and maybe getting a little reward for all of his hard work), though he knew this would likely crush Derek's heart. He'd have trust issues and new reasons to brood, probably for an eternity, but that's still a hell of a lot better than being burnt to death as well as his entire family.

Now, to get to the actual saving part. Preferably without much mangling (on his person—he desperately hoped there was some mangling at the end of it all) and with maximum amusement. This would be the first actual conversation he'd had with a person since he chatted up a heroine junkie three years ago at his campsite nearby Stiles's house. He'd need to practice.

Stiles could move easily enough with the help of his shadows, even across larger distances. They could also carry him around on a dark cloud, could hide him from view, and could even protect him a bit from physical attacks, making the best (maybe only) perk of being a demon. So he'd decided he wanted to make a bit of a splash when he showed himself to the Hales, despite how 'colorful' their reaction was likely to be. Stiles had even dressed up a bit for the occasion with a soft black sweater he'd stolen from a Macy's on one of his rare trips out to the next city over and a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and his sneakers. Still, he didn't want to make them too angry.

So he contented himself with appearing from the shadows and plopping himself into the large leather armchair in the living room while the rest of the Hales were having a family dinner in the adjacent dining room.

The immediate silence and tension in the house made Stiles want to cackle with glee.

He crossed his legs primly and waited, wrapping a few shadows around his hand lazily. Growls and furious whispers were issuing from around the entryway, before the tall figure of Talia Hale appeared in the doorway, eyes blazing red. She seemed to pale for a second, her head tilted in brief confusion, before her posture tightened, and she glared at him with unconcealed hostility.

"I can only assume you are incredibly stupid to have come here like this," she said in a quiet growl. "Who the hell are you."

Stiles quickly raised up his hand and split his fingers in the Star Trek signature hand gesture, shadows weaving in between the gaps of his fingers. "I come in peace," he said, grinning when her face tightened in fury. "I also might have come for a slice of that steak. It smells damn good."

She took a step toward him, her eyes fixed on his neck, when a smooth voice intervened.

"I was wondering when you would reveal yourself." The Hale that had tracked him to the farmer's market stepped out of the dining room, positioning himself next to Talia and fixing Stiles with a look of amusement tinged with suspicion.

"You've seen him before, Peter?" Talia turned to her brother, with a look of chastisement on her face.

"He's been watching the firm for a few days now," Peter answered lowly, watching him with curiosity. "I tried to make contact with him, but he disappeared. He seems harmless."

"I've seen him outside the firm as well," Laura added from behind them, trying to peak around her mother. "Lurking in the alley like a stalker."

"I've been following Derek and Cora too," Stiles said, as if trying to be helpful. "They had no idea though. I think they could use a summer school refresher on their wolfy awareness. All that ability, but so, so clueless."

Talia erupted into a growl at that, protective fury making a quick and dangerous return. She lunged for the armchair, but Stiles had already sunk into the shadows and crossed to the other side of the room before appearing again, his hands raised with open palms.

"Come on now, Alpha Hale, there's no need for violence! Think about it for a minute. I could've easily hurt them at any point if I had wanted to, but I didn't and don't want to," Stiles said soothingly before hesitating. "Well, actually…."

She lunged at him again, but Stiles had already vanished, his laughter echoing through the room. "Just kidding!"

Another tall, unfairly handsome man entered the room, pressing his hand into the alpha's back and rubbing there gently. His dark hair and sharply cut features were so obviously identical to Derek's that Stiles knew this must be his father, Jared Hale.

"What have you come here for, demon?" he demanded, casting a warning glance behind him when Derek, Cora, and Laura peaked in from the dining room entrance.

"Let's just say my name is Cień, and leave it at that, okay?"

"Very well, Cień." Talia stood resolutely, grimacing. With a look of thinly veiled disgust, she offered her wrist to the demon floating on the cloud of shadows in front of her. "I will be your blood letter, in exchange for your information. But," her voice lowered into a vicious growl, "if I find out this information is false, I will rip your throat out."

"That probably wouldn't kill me," Stiles commented dryly, looking speculatively at her wrist. "And no thanks. I don't like female blood. Too clouded by hormones and such. Kinda tastes like cough medicine, actually."

Talia froze, her face darkening with fury.

"That's right," Stiles taunted with a sharp grin. "I want the blood of a wolf man, preferably in his prime. I'll make an exception for hotties over thirty, of course." One red eye winked at Peter where he leaned against the wall, watching the proceedings with interest. "Although, everyone in this family is gorgeous. It's a bit unfair, actually."

Stiles saw Derek turn pale and a bit green, his mother moving to shield him from the provocative way the demon's eyes trailed over the men in the room. Peter looked as unaffected as ever, his dark blue eyes looking almost challengingly back into Stiles's. Jared stiffened in his seat on the couch, looking both reluctant and protective.

The demon had a moment to lament that obvious sign of parental love and protection. Derek's blood probably would've had the best spice, a more energetic taste.

The Alpha looked conflicted. Obviously she did not want to force her husband, brother, or son into being a weekly meal for a demon. But if this demon was telling the truth…if something was about to happen to her pack, to her family….

"So? What'll it be? I'm a very busy demon, you know. Lots of teenage brats to scare in abandoned houses, babies to steal candy from." Stiles grinned lazily, relaxing onto his black cloud.

"He can have mine, if his information holds up," Peter answered lowly from the doorway.

"Peter, you don't have to—" Talia began but stopped at her brother's raised eyebrow.

"I have also wondered at the odd silence we've been experiencing from the Argents these past few years. If they're about to break the treaty and strike, it will be swift and devastating. If giving a pint or two to this little bastard every now and then will protect my pack, I will gladly do it." He finished, looking ever the cunning and charming gentleman. He straightened from his lounging position against the wall, the cream colored sweater hugging his muscled and lithe form.

"I knew you'd be the smart one," Stiles purred, rolling over onto his stomach and propping his chin on his hands. "I bet you'll taste like an aged wine, smooth and full but with a little bite." He chuckled at the shudders that passed through the room, delighting in the open disgust on the alpha's face. "I wonder if I'll get drunk on you." He laughed loudly at his own joke, before sitting up and facing the man who had approached him.

"You're probably not far off," Peter replied quietly, his blue eyes flashing. "Beware that that bite does not linger in your throat."

Stiles hummed with anticipation, the red of his eyes brightening. He smiled, sharp white canines appearing teasingly from under the red lips. Power began to gather around his slight form, lifting his hair and loose clothes as if by some unholy wind. "Do we have a deal, then? Your blood in exchange for my information?" He asked silkily, one slim hand outstretched. The very air in the room seemed to get colder with every second.

Peter met his gaze without wavering, the wolf hovering threateningly around his features. "And your assistance, if requested," he added, a challenge in his voice. His hand reached forward and met the demon's.

Stiles gave him a vicious grin, his nails cutting into the skin of Peter's hand. "With pleasure."

Their clasped hands became enclosed in shadow, the black tendrils curling like snakes around their wrists. A burning sensation seared Peter's palm, but the werewolf never looked away from the demon a couple feet away. After a few moments, the darkness receded from their hands and from the room, the very air seeming to lighten with relief. Peter extracted his hand from the demon's and pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his pressed slacks, wiping his palm down as if he'd just touched something filthy. He noticed a series of acrylic letters in black ink printed neatly in the center of his palm.

"Pleasure to be doing business with you," Stiles grinned cheekily, sinking back into his shadows, which curled around him and petted him adoringly.

"The information, if you please," Peter said nonchalantly, inspecting his claws for dirt. Around him, the pack relaxed, seeing him unharmed and still of sound mind.

"So impatient," Stiles demurred with a sly grin, chuckling at the veiled command the wolf sent back in an icy glare. "Yes, yes. Ladies and gentlewolves," he began theatrically, waving an arm out to the side and causing the wisps of shadow to dance and twirl in air. "I'd like to spin you a tale of almost Shakespearean tragedy, full of love and death, innocence and treachery…and murderous catty bitches with daddy issues."

His audience was less than amused; Talia had even broken the arm of the sofa in her annoyance. Peter only gave him an unimpressed look.

"Well, quite a few things are different. In this case, Romeo is the innocent virgin prey to the manipulations of pretty older predators, a most sharp and cunning Juliet," he whispered the last into Derek's ear, having teleported behind the teenaged werewolf. Derek spun around in horror, electric blue eyes flashing.

Stiles only laughed again and slunk back to the center of the room, his eyes watching the young man's with dark amusement. Talia growled fiercely and moved to stand in front of her son, her eyes blazing.

"Enough of the dramatics, Cień. Speak plainly." Peter ordered, though his eyes were watching his young nephew with something akin to suspicion.

"All right, all right. Sheesh, werewolves, no appreciation for the arts," Stiles huffed, gathering his shadows and forming them into a black cloud for him to lounge on. "Long story short: Lovable idiot here has unsurprisingly been played for a fool by a vicious snake of a women: Kate Argent."

Derek flinched at the name, his eyes widening in horror and disbelief. His parents turned to him with concern and anger, his mother's hands gripping his shoulders. Talia opened her mouth to scold him, when he interrupted with rushed denials.

"Wait, Mom, it's not true! She's different from her family, I promise! I—"

"Tut, tut," Stiles cut him off smoothly, clucking his tongue. "It's adorably tragic, really. I don't blame you much for falling for it: she's certainly an accomplished actress. Probably has something to do with her whole 'psychotic bitch personality' thing she's got going on." He paused for a moment, before sliding a pitying look at Derek from the corner of his eye. "She calls you her 'pet wolf' to all her hunter cronies, you know. Sleeps with them, too."

The wolf could only look at him with his mouth open, horror clouding his eyes. He looked like he was going to be sick all over the floor. Perhaps it was a good thing that he wouldn't be Stiles's meal. Naïve people always tasted kind of cloying.

"How do you know all of this, Cień?" Peter asked, turning away from the sight of his sister and brother-in-law trying to both comfort and scold their son. "And you still haven't said what is going to happen that will endanger the pack."

Stiles looked at him speculatively before answering. "They've been meeting to discuss their strategy in the abandon house that I call my home-sweet-home. I'm not sure if it's because they are so focused on killing you all or if they are simply unobservant, but they've yet to notice my presence. Despite the pranks I sometimes like to play on them," he said with a smirk.

The pack had frozen at the mention of 'killing you all,' and nearly all of the werewolf eyes in the room lit up in acknowledgement. They remained silent though, so Stiles chose to continue on.

"Loverboy here, however unknowingly, has been providing that Argent bitch with enough information to plan a massive and fatal assault of this very house in about three weeks from now. When you're having a family gathering, or something," Stiles said dismissively, though his red eyes flashed for a moment in rage. "Their current plans are to trap you in the house with wards and mountain ash before setting the whole thing ablaze in a fire that would make the Hindenburg blush with envy."

There was a moment of silence in the room as the family digested this image before varying degrees of stunned horror set in. Lurching out of his mother's arms, Derek stumbled from the room with a hand pressed tightly against his mouth, his shaking form vanishing down the hall to a door on the left. The muted sounds of retching followed, at which Laura left the room to follow him, her face unusually pale and shell-shocked. Cora slid down the wall by the kitchen door, watching Stiles with wide blank eyes.

The adults had frozen at the announcement but managed to maintain their composer, if only just. Talia Hale sat down heavily upon the couch, her hand clutching her husband's tightly when he joined her. Peter walked across the living room to the window facing out onto the yard, his bright wolf eyes flashing.

Stiles felt a brief pang of guilt; that probably hadn't been the best way to tell a family of the imminent plans for their particularly gruesome demise. There were certainly many horrible ways to die, Stiles knew that personally. But to be trapped in your home, the one place you were supposed to be safe above all else, while everyone and everything you loved slowly burns to death….

He looked away from them all, watching the shadows curl comfortingly around his arms, before speaking again. "Sorry…that wasn't…." But he stopped, unable to finish.

Peter turned to look at him from the corner of his eye, his face without expression and yet still somehow managing to instill a sense of danger. He seemed almost curious at Stiles' apology, as if surprised a demon would feel the need to do so. Which, Stiles conceded, was indeed out of character for his hell-spawn brethren (not that he'd met any).

Talia sighed and sat back against the couch, fixing Stiles with an irate look. "Your manner was certainly lacking delicacy, but it's not as if that's unexpected at this point." She paused to think for a moment, her face grim. "But that does have all of the hallmarks of an organized hunter siege. "After years of relative peace…why would the Argents break the treaty now?"

"I doubt this is an official attack by the whole family," Peter observed. "Gerard would have no qualms about the mass murder of a few werewolves, though it would be hard to catch him as an active participant. And Kate might have a bit of pull with a few of the hunters, but Chris is the one who actually trains them and leads the hunts and patrols. There aren't as many hunters in the country as committed to the Code as Chris."

"They did mention someone named Chris when they were talking," Stiles added. "Something about not wanting him to 'butt in.'"

"Hmmm…."

Talia caught Peter's eye. "We'll need to do more research into exactly which members of the Argents are defecting from the Code. If we can respond to this without starting a war…."

"I wouldn't mind getting my pound of flesh," Peter drawled lazily, his eyes flashing at Talia. Stiles noticed his hands twitched a bit at the word 'flesh.'

Talia's Alpha red eyes flared to life in response, a growl underlining her words. "No one wants blood more than I do, Peter. This is my son we're talking about. The thought of that bitch laying her filthy hands on Derek makes me want to paint the city in blood." She reached for the side table by the couch, a lovely oak table with flowers carved into the face of its two drawers, and pulled it into her hands, heedless of the lamp and picture frame that fell to the floor. Her hands tightened minutely on the side of the table before the wood snapped loudly in half, a jagged split opening in the middle as the contents of the drawers tumbled to the floor.

Stiles instantly took two steps further away from the enraged alpha, his eyes watching carefully for any sudden movements. He was, after all, the only non-family member in the room and therefore the most likely to be attacked if Talia decided she needed to release more of her anger. (He'd also been a Jackson-Whittemore level douchebag earlier, so….)

"But…" Talia continued, taking a deep breath, "for the sake of the innocent people of Beacon Hills and the future of this pack, we have to do this the diplomatic way."

Peter gave a derisive huff but seemed to concede to her authority as alpha.

"That being said…" she added, her face becoming suddenly sharper, her eyes red and teeth glinting from around her lips, "if you get the chance, Peter…."

A slow, pleased smirk stretched across his face, the shadows deepening along the contours of his face. Peter looked darkly malevolent in an almost bestial way, the wild bloodlust of the wolf permeating through the elegant guise of a well-dressed man of law. For a moment, Stiles desperately wanted to be one of the shadows caressing the sharp cut of his jaw or cheekbones; he wondered if the skin there would be hot or cold, smooth or rough.

"You'll be helping with that, Cień, as part of the deal you made with Peter," Talia ordered, giving him a cold look.

"Of course," Stiles agreed cheerfully. "I'm nothing if not helpful and devious."

"That's perhaps the most honest thing you've said all night," Jared gave a huff of laughter, though his mood, like everyone else's, was still considerably serious. He stood up, rubbed a hand over his face, and turned to his wife. "I'll go check on Derek and Laura. We could try to finish dinner, but…well." He sighed softly before heading for the hall bathroom, brushing a soothing hand on Cora's head as he passed by.

"Now that you mention it, I am feeling a bit puckish," Stiles drawled silkily, twisting around on his shadow cloud to look at Peter again. "And since I've held up my half of the bargain…"

"You have no sense of decency, do you," Talia remarked in a deadpan voice, the laugh lines around her mouth deepening with exhaustion.

"Not a wink," Stiles bantered back, before making 'gimme' hand gestures at Peter.

The wolf gave him a look before glancing briefly at Cora and Talia. "Let's take this outside, shall we?" He headed toward the front door, passing his sister who brushed a hand against his arm briefly.

Stiles wiggled in anticipation. He just knew that the wolf's blood was going to be delicious. Well, he'd never had werewolf before, and his human examples were far from the prime of health and wellness, but perhaps it was his demon instinct that was telling him this would be one to savor.

Best deal he'd ever made. And that included the time he'd agreed to give Scott all of his baseball cards in return for the pudding snack packs from his best friend's lunch in kindergarten.

And if he'd saved a family from a horrible gruesome death? Just the cherry on top. All he really needed to do now was sit back, watch the Hales get their revenge, hope Kate Argent burned in a circle of hell that smells like shit and wet dog, and enjoy the blood of a sexy wolfman who will likely rip his throat out sometime in the near future.

What a bright afterlife to look forward to.

AN: I have not included the actual feeding scene into this oneshot as it would increase the rating. I'd be willing to write one in the event that there are people interested in reading it and maybe a second chapter as well that outlines the Hale response.

Hope you enjoyed this oneshot. Please leave a comment or kudos if you did.