This is dedicated to my Tumblr partner-in-crime, coffeelovingsadist!
"What's this all about?" Stiles demanded, holding up his phone. The screen glowed brightly in the encroaching darkness, lighting up a simple text message in the gloom: The woods. Now.
He was used to Derek making unreasonable demands out of him, but that didn't mean that he particularly enjoyed being forced to meet him in the middle of the woods on a school night.
And seriously, the woods? One of the last times he'd come out here Stiles indirectly got Scott turned into a werewolf.
At least this time he was prepared. Stiles' free hand reached into his pocket, pulling out a long stem of wolfs bane. Well, it wasn't much, and Derek's text gave him little-to-no time to actually prepare an anti-werewolf weapon with it. Not that he was planning to use it against the Alpha—well, not this Alpha anyway. He had no arsenal at his immediate disposal, except for his mouth.
A dark figure came out from behind one of the tall trees that made up the woods. Stiles rolled his eyes. "Really?" he snapped as the so-obviously-sourwolf person slowly approached him. "You're going for the Dark Knight approach? Dude, I know it's you, and you're frigging lucky that I decided to come out here at all. You know, some of us have lives outside of hunters and monsters, and I for one would like to get back to it—"
"Hello Stiles."
Stiles felt his stomach drop, his cell phone nearly slipping out of his grasp. He tightened his hold on it as the screen dimmed automatically. The moon was half-full, hanging menacingly in the night sky. It gave enough illumination to cast a beacon of light on the figure.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Peter smirked. When his eyes flashed they were blue, instead of that nightmare-fuelling red of an Alpha's. Which didn't make him any less dangerous, nor did it bring comfort to Stiles.
Stiles backed up, nearly stumbling over an up-rooted knot of roots. His overreacting mind was hastily putting two-and-two together. "Was this," he asked, holding up the phone, "your brilliant idea? Oh fuck, I'm so fucked right now—"
"Is it really that simple?" Peter's voice was dangerously calm as he approached Stiles. He slipped his hand into his leather jacket's—was this a fashion trend that ran in the Hale line or something?—pocket, pulling out Derek's phone. "Is it so mind-numbingly easy to lure you out here under the pretense of an ally demanding for your presence? I thought you were smarter than this." Stiles heart pounded in his chest—Lydia's blood all over her pretty dress; fangs threatening to penetrate the white skin of his wrist—as he tried to think of a way out of his current predicament.
"Look, I've been having a month out of hell," he stammered. He held up the wolfs bane, and in turn got a sarcastic eye-roll from Peter. Stiles faltered, but continued to back away. "Clearly, I didn't think this through." If he ran, Peter would be able to catch up to him within a split second, tear his throat out, crack open his ribs and dig out his still-beating heart, and—
"Your heartbeat's erratic," Peter drawled, his claws shooting out his human hands. "You're allowing your imagination to run away with you, Stiles. Learn to keep it under control."
Stiles swallowed, breathing in deeply. "Well, hanging around your kind certainly isn't helping matters," he spat sarcastically.
"Don't give me attitude, sweetheart."
"How are you back?" Stiles demanded. He shoved the wolfs bane in front of him, as if that alone would keep Bad Touch Peter at arm's length. When the wolf smirked, Stiles felt his stance falter slightly.
"How am I back?" Peter mocked, now standing in front of Stiles' outstretched hand. He grabbed Stiles' wrist, twisting it painfully. The teen gasped in pain as Peter continued to bend it into an impossible position. "I'm back with the help of your darling Lydia. Such a sweet,"—Peter gave one final twist, and Stiles nearly screamed as the bones in his wrist cracked loudly—"and helpful beauty."
He released his grip on his wrist, and Stiles pulled it close to his chest, unimaginable pain flaring through his arm. The wolfs bane was still there, pinched between his fingertips.
OK, that should've affected him a little bit, Stiles thought as he gritted his teeth, even though it didn't directly touch him. Is this what happens when you come back from the dead? Some weird immunity to fatal weaknesses?
"What are you talking about?" Stiles gasped angrily. He needed to get to the hospital; have Scott's mom X-Ray his wrist or something. Fuck, it hurt so badly.
But Peter merely placed two of his long, slender fingers against Stiles' lips. "Those aren't the questions you should be asking, darling."
Stiles jerked back, like he'd been burned. Peter rolled his eyes. "You should stop treating me like I'm the villain, Stiles," he said darkly, narrowing his eyes.
"I can't see it any other way," Stiles hissed. "And tricking me to meet you here in the woods isn't winning you any gold stars, buddy."
Peter cocked his head to the side. "What if I told you I was doing all of this… to help my nephew?"
"You're hilarious, Peter. Ever tried a career in stand-up?"
"I'm serious, dear."
His broken wrist was trembling with pain, stabbing consistently into the shattered bone and sensitive skin encasing it. Stiles tried to move to the side, but in an instant Peter was on him, slamming Stiles against the tree behind him. Stiles cursed loudly as his arms went flying from the impact, causing him to lose his grip on his phone and precious wolfs bane. Peter's hands were at his throat, and he pressed in close, wolf eyes glowing with that eerie blue.
His breath ghosted against Stiles ear as he breathed words into it. "Your injury is just a fair warning," he murmured as his left hand glided down the length of Stiles' arm, touching the broken wrist. Stiles hissed in pain, but Peter ignored him. "But the warning's not for you, sweetheart."
"Then who is it…?" Stiles' voice faltered, realization dawning on him.
What if I told you I was doing all of this… to help my nephew?
"Oh come on," Stiles pleaded, wincing as Peter gripped his wrist. "This is twisted. It doesn't even make sense!"
"From a tactical advantage, it does," Peter sighed. He released Stiles' wrist, and dragged a claw across his heaving chest, stopping just above Stiles' heart. "The Alpha pack is on the loose. They'll perceive Derek as a threat. And the best way to weaken a threat is to aim for the heart." Peter slowly drew an X across Stiles' chest, smiling cruelly as his other hand gripped Stiles' throat more tightly, and squeezed. Stiles gasped, struggling to breathe.
"And anyone that the enemy views to be precious to my nephew will be the first ones that they tear down. Even a so-called, insignificant human boy like you." Peter loosened his grip on Stiles' windpipe, then immediately gripped his chin, forcing the teen to look into his wolfish eyes. "But I've known from the start how precious and important you were, Stiles. If Derek was wise enough, he'd reach out,"—and here Peter used his other hand and brought up Stiles' uninjured wrist, drawing it close to Peter's teeth—"and claim you. If he wants to win, he should really look at the assets he's already collected. Coming out here tonight shows that you're already loyal to him, sweetheart."
"And you're still full of bullshit," Stiles said back, glaring at the former Alpha. "Sourwolf doesn't think like that."
"But he should," Peter purred, leering into Stiles' personal space. Blood pounded in Stiles' ears as Peter's fangs sprouted from his mouth, and he feared what the pedo-wolf was thinking about, displaying those jaws of death.
"Peter!"
Stiles breathed a sigh of relief as Peter reluctantly stepped back, releasing him from his hold. Stiles bent down and scrambled to grab his phone as Derek stalked his way over. His eyes flashed red in Peter's direction, earning him a raised eyebrow for his efforts.
"Stiles, what the hell are you doing out here?" Derek growled. Stiles grabbed his phone before scoffing at the Alpha. Derek's eyes narrowed at the sight of Stiles' wrist, which was bent haphazardly.
He turned angrily to Peter. "What did you do?"
Peter sighed, shrugging. "How long are you going to make me your scapegoat for every little thing, Derek?"
"What did you do to him?"
"So defensive," Peter smiled, tossing Derek his phone, who deftly caught it. He looked down at the messages, frowning slightly.
"Teach your pets how to avoid obvious traps," Peter muttered as he walked past his nephew. "The new pack is smart; they'll be catching on quickly." He turned back to look at Stiles, who shuddered from the mysterious smirk the creeper gave him, before continuing on his way. Stiles watched him go, his wrist throbbing uncontrollably.
Derek scowled as he shoved his phone into his jacket pocket. He then turned to Stiles, staring at his broken wrist. "You should get that checked out," he muttered.
"Nah, I was thinking of leaving it like this," said Stiles sarcastically, which only earned him a glare from Derek. "You really want me to drive one-handed? It'd be pretty ironic if I crashed my Jeep while heading for the hospital, y'know?"
Derek had drawn closer, reaching out for Stiles' wrist. Stiles hissed in pain as the Alpha gripped the cracked bones underneath his rough fingertips, inspecting the injury. "Why did he do this?" he asked, surprisingly tender.
Stiles stared at him. "He said it was for your own benefit."
Derek's red eyes narrowed. "Bastard."
"Well, now I have to deal with the consequences of your little lesson," Stiles muttered, gritting his teeth as he pulled his wrist out of Derek's grasp.
"Give me your keys."
"What?"
Derek shoved his hand into Stiles' pocket, reaching around before pulling out a ring of keys, dangling them in front of his face. "I'll drive."
"How charitable of you," Stiles said.
"Shut up," Derek muttered before turning around and walking away. Stiles struggled to keep up; the Alpha was faster than Stiles even when he wasn't running at inhuman speeds.
But Stiles had seen it in Derek's face, even though the Alpha would never admit it.
He understood Peter's warning, loud and clear.