Peter doesn't really care about Scott. The idiot is far too weak to even grasp the concept of the kind of power he has. He doesn't even really realize what he's been offered. Alpha status; no guts no tears no betrayal. Just straight up Alpha. Peter wouldn't care, except he doesn't use it his so-called 'pack' is worse off than his useless nephew's. No actual werewolf has sworn their fealty to Scott, and even the humans are more headstrong than he.
Stiles though, Stiles is someone who really should've gotten the bite. What if Peter had bitten him? Stiles, the lanky, ADD-stricken dork who really couldn't even stand properly when Peter first encountered the both of them. Peter has no idea what his wolf had going through its head. He's pretty sure he was high on the whole 'fresh out of a coma' type of feeling.
Therefore it doesn't matter to him, that Scott gets his poor poor heart broken. Peter wants to shove it down his throat that mates don't leave. Allison wasn't his mate so she doesn't matter. Scott should look right in front of his nose. At the kid who does matter, Stiles, because Stiles and his idiot nephew have been prancing around each other for well over a year. Peter's pretty sick of it. Except he's not because seeing his nephew so constipated makes him euphoric. Derek doesn't seem to realize that he has more emotions -or a lack thereof which can only mean he's repressing them- around the now magnetic teenager.
Peter is in a good place to tell his nephew that yes, Stiles is his mate, and yes, Stiles 'likes' him back. But no; Peter won't. Why not? Because constipated Derek is far too amusing to let go of. He freely admits that there were a few times he confused Derek even further. Herding his nephew -in wolf form of course- toward BHHS and Stiles' car, leaving him dying on the road was fantastic. In all that pain, Derek's wolf was closer to the surface. Which Peter found hilarious because Derek just got so bewildered at the scent. It was one of his greater moments.
Which is why Scott should be helping his friend out. If Scott is actually so bad at being a werewolf that he hasn't noticed something, then Peter should just kill him before it's too late. Perhaps he will actually, an easy Alpha status to sweeten the deal. He's broken out of his reverie, sprawled on the couch, staring at said nephew and said Stiles bickering incessantly. Peter never stops this. He remembers it being the same with his mate, ever so long ago. Until one day, she got hurt and Peter carried her six miles in his arms to Deaton. Who hadn't been at the clinic. It makes him weirdly nostalgic, not that he dwells on it for long. Real emotions are exhausting.
What he doesn't expect though is for Stiles to mutter, "Fuck it," and proceed to pounce on his nephew like a starved animal. Peter is frozen and at a lack of words for once; more commonly, so is his nephew. Clearly, the poor boy is having severe trouble in processing what's happening, because it takes him a full three seconds to look alive and another two to actually start kissing Stiles back. He's lucky the poor boy is used to rejection and kept going full steam ahead. Fortunately, his words do come back before the whining, keening sound escaping them both can be acted upon.
"Well. Look who finally got their shit together." Peter tuts, shaking his head mockingly at the two mortified mates. "Why nephew, do you have nothing to say for yourself? An apology for your poor uncle who will be scarred forevermore?" At that, Stiles gives him the finger and drags Derek to the master bedroom.
He doesn't have anything to entertain him now; despite wanting to listen in and tease the both of them mercilessly later, he knows that the first time is too important to be associated with embarrassment. He grabs his jacket, and skips out before the sex noises intensify. He doesn't really know where to go, so he grabs the keys to the Mercedes and gets to the garage. Before he knows it, he's landed at the edge of the woods, the edge closest to the Hale house. He doesn't want to be here. There are memories of he and Clara everywhere. It's not pleasant. It's disconcerting and depressing. Why does he always end up here? Peter sighs, bowing his head and leaning against the car. He has no one to annoy, no one to distract him right now except Isaac. Peter doesn't like making fun of the kid though.
Instead, he goes to Hooters. Sure, he has to drive 60 miles to the nearest city, but it's worth it. The shitty onion rings will give him something to complain about, the generous -ahem- bosoms give him something to distract his mind from Clara. He ends up walking out the moment he enters though. The loud music, the overly bosomed women make him feel as shallow as a baby pool. Even more so than usual. He doesn't really know where to go, so he goes home. Back to the woods. It doesn't really matter where he goes, he's alone.
Nobody really trusts him in the pack, which he's convinced is a good thing. If they did, he would eventually feel guilted into trusting them. Which would be terrible because people always let each other down. He sits on the destroyed roof for a while, animals giving the house a wide berth. Which is the way it should be. He's the predator here. Before long, he's tired and just wants to go home. Checking his watch, he's surprised to note that it's been two hours. Best to head back to the apartment, cook something for the pack and get through the meeting unharmed.
When he gets back, he's glad that the horny mates have cooled down, he can hear them whispering upstairs frantically trying to get dressed and act normal. His nephew is an idiot. Peter. Is a werewolf for Christ's sake. He's happy though, happy. It's strange, but in little times like this, when he can hear Stiles piecing it together that "It won't matter Derek. Derek. You are a werewolf what the fuck were we thinking dear Lord." Of course it makes Peter snicker, and turns around, meaning that the two walk the walk of shame under his very focused stare. He is happy, he can smell the happy practically pooling, out of both of those idiots' pores. Soon he hears Scott's horrible motorbike stutter down the road, and hears the kickstand being set against the concrete wall again. That kid is incorrigible.
Oh well. The chicken's in the oven, the 5 cartons of ice cream he bought on his way back, in the freezer. There's tortilla chips, celery, carrot sticks which will surprisingly be eaten by Isaac. Boyd will hog the chips until Erica steals them from him, and then he'll pick her up and snuffle her throat until she drops them. That will probably turn into another uncomfortable make out session, meanwhile, Scott and Stiles will find popcorn from God knows where because Peter never buys any. The two friends will pepper each other with projectiles, leaving shit everywhere. Scott's a good kid though, and forces Stiles to help clean up after meetings. The movie will start, and if Lydia wins this week, it'll be a showing of The Notebook. Jackson will pretend to grumble, but really he's blushing furiously on the inside because she still loves that movie even after the year he's been away.
Yeah. Peter's happy.