"Oh, my, GOD, Scott, your alpha is the world's worst alpha…no wait scratch that Peter was the world's worst alpha. Killing people and being all creepy and psychotic and also totally eyeing your mom, but Derek is a close second!" Stiles was ranting to Scott in the locker room, and he wasn't stopping. At all, for anything. "He keeps giving me death glares, and smacking the back of my head, oh and don't think I haven't noticed that he bullies only me like that. 'Cause I have. He's a terrible person. Or a terrible werewolf. Do all werewolves act that? Do normal wolves beat each other up for nothing? Wait – do you wanna beat me up for nothing?"
Scott tugged shirt over his head, half listening. "One, not all werewolves do that, two I don't watch as much National Geographic as you and three, I normally don't want to but you're starting to make me get a craving to." He shot Stiles a pointed look who shrugged and held his hands up in a placating gesture.
"I'm just saying. He beats me up a lot. For nothing. Nothing, Scott."
Scott cocked his head and observed Stiles, recalling whenever Derek picked on his friend; shoving him into a wall as he passed, fake-lunging for Stiles whenever his buddy caught a case of fake bravado against Scott's alpha, and even quelling Stiles's runaway logic with an irritated glare. Never actually hurting him, but certainly picking on him, although Derek would doubtlessly protect Stiles as well as he would Scott or Jackson. Even though he'd probably snark and verbally abuse him as he did it, just as he had with his two Betas.
A strange idea came over Scott. "Maybe it's like that thing dogs do."
"…what?" Stiles had apparently been in the middle of another rant. Scott felt grateful he was deep thinker. He really wanted Stiles's rants to stop.
"Like where they're in a pack and they pick on the littlest one." Scott said it in a rush, feeling confident in his answer, a wide eyed look coming over him.
"Are you – wait – are you saying that I," Stiles gestured to himself, "that I am the runt of the pack?"
"Yeah, it makes sense. You're the only one not a werewolf, so it's like picking on you makes you stronger right? Like a big brother to the little one? Like…he does it to make you stronger?" Scott's brow furrowed, "Or maybe it's because you are a runt so he knows you can't really do anything. So you're just an easy target."
Stiles's mouth hung open. "Oh my god. Why am I the runt? Wait – why am I a part of the pack? I don't go howling at the moon or, or grow bag-lady nails whenever I get pissed."
Scott watched him for a moment, and then gave a one shouldered shrug. "Dunno. But you are, I know it and so do Jackson and Derek." He brightened, smiled, and then gave Stiles a quick punch in the arm.
"Ow! Damn it Scott!" he rubbed his arm while Scott started to walk away.
He turned with a shit-eating grin on his face, "Just trying to toughen you up in the pack, runt."