Author's Note:
Teen Wolf has become another obsession of mine and unfortunately, I've become smitten with the "bad guy." However, I have such a strong belief in not only redemption for Peter Hale but for him to turn out to be good. I know that he got lost in his way of avenging his family, that he turned to power as an answer, but I also know that he went through so much hell. He lost almost his entire family and nothing could replace that; so he spent every day thinking of revenge, how to be strong enough to finally murder the person responsible. (Now, I'm on episode six of season four so I haven't seen everything yet but I do know some spoilers. I was inspired to write because Peter is a father and they never truly explore that, or haven't yet for me.) Note on the last sentence: I keep seeing these Tumblr text posts and decided to add the "What's good?" part to the story. I thought it would add a little more humor for the situation.
The Eichen House. As the days went by, the madhouse schedule had become a blur but it wasn't what sent my skin crawling with irritation. It was the doctors, the people down here with me.. They were nothing like me.
Sure, I didn't have the perfect record of goodness on my plate and I was not known for my good works, but what was stolen from me? My birth right! And then, my family is stolen from me; even if I hated some of them, I never wanted them to die. I may have amused myself with the thought but I would never have taken all of those lives.
And then there was the fact that when I had been the next of line, the heir, that stupid girl became the Alpha! Then, I did what was necessary; if I couldn't obtain the position by natural causes, I would speed up the process. Laura's face as my claws slashed at her throat looked horrified; it almost made me regret it. But then I felt the power, felt the shift from just a Beta to an Alpha.
As time went on, I was murdered by Derek, my own nephew; he became the Alpha after me. From murder or being of the line of Talia, I was never sure.
My death had been short lived, however; I knew Lydia Martin was immune to the bite but I implanted my memories into her, just in case. She had turned out to be very useful, surprisingly. Rather than just spending the rest of her life crying, she actually brought my dear old nephew to me and long story short, I arose from my grave.
Currently, I wouldn't put being alive on the good things list.
I lay my head on my pillow, looking at the ceiling as another screamer went off on how they would tear the doctors apart, how they would make sure the doctor never lived another day. "Anyway the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me, to me; Mama, just killed a man," I sang, turning over in my bed to look at the wall.
As the hours passed, I eventually closed my eyes, falling asleep with even the neighbor beginning their yelling session early. It happened easily, just as every sleep I had ever taken; however, I was woken by the shuffling of feet in my room.
Based on what my neighbors claim, I never gave an excuse to why I bolted from the bed, my blue eyes searching everywhere. My gaze fell on the man in the middle of my room, adjusting to the way the moonlight fell upon him. He was tall, with a face that was burnt to the crisp, yet still an dumbfounding pale color. His eyes were a black abyss with no whites on the edges; they didn't seem to miss anything.
"Just because I can't have weapons in here doesn't mean they can contain the claws; I'd go to the next room if I were you." I shifted so that I stood, facing my opponent. He didn't look all that menacing so I was sure to win.
He scoffed, looking as if I had just told him another joke from a children's book. "I'm not here to murder you, Peter; I'm here to help you." The tone was bitter disappointment; he most likely was doing me a favor under someone else's rule. He wasn't a kamina by any means but if he was offering peace, I wasn't going to move closer than I needed to.
"Help me? Forgive me if I'm not expecting you to bring me a present." My claws were beginning to shrink back slowly, but were still visible enough to prove a threat.
For a moment, he paused, his lips pressed together in a thin line of disgust. "You will be given one day in time; you will have the ability to change large things, small things, or nothing. Everything can have a devastating reaction or a positive one. You will have sixty seconds to choose."
"Wait, what?" I cut in, my mind racing as his fingers closed around something on his wrist. Little ticks went by and I realized that I was being timed; what a professional.
"Forty-two seconds."
"Give me a minute!" I hissed in protest, beginning to run back through all of the days that I could change the outcome of, that I could once again come on top of.
"Thirty-six seconds."
My mind gave me only one thought that would prove worthy enough after all of this time. Malia. "Alright, I have it."
The pale man's eyes closed and suddenly, he was right before me, his breath on my forehead. "Grab my arm and you'll be there." He hadn't opened his eyes yet, nor did I trust him more than I had when I had woken up; nevertheless, I took his arm, my claws digging into his skin but not to the point of breaking skin.
Sand appeared on the floor of my room, causing myself and the man before me to sink in it to about knee height; The sand then surrounded us in a tornado like fashion, creating a high-winded, protection shield around us. The small parts of the sky that I could still see had become colorless now but the man in front of me had yet to even take a peek.
The sand then fell, just as my body collapsed. My eyes closed with the pressure of the drop, falling unconscious instantly. However, I awoke quickly, noticing the difference in the room immediately; it was no longer cold and dull but warm and full of a vaguely familiar smell.
It was the smell of a terrorized human being, resting in the arms of a peaceful man. I rose from the floor, discovering that I was in the kitchen of someone else's house. My mind failed to care, focusing on the scent hanging in the air, just above me; the child smelled quite similar to Malia, mainly from the shampoo. I had imagined that I would be sent to the time where she was a baby, right after she was taken from me but things wouldn't have changed if it had been then.
As I approached the living room, I took notice that the both the inhabitants of the chair were fast asleep. Ever so slowly, I peered over the headrest, looking upon her face; she couldn't have been older than nine now.
Moving carefully, I found myself at the front side of the chair, gazing down upon the small girl. Then, I shifted my gaze to the "father," my hands moving under her carefully; I seemed to be doing too well at taking at her, until a hand shot out and grabbed my arm.
"What do you think you're doing?" the man asked, his eyes proving weary but his tone giving no such hint to the weakness.
I sighed, my eye color changing from blue to a vibrant, bright yellow, showing my Beta status. "That's my daughter; just because she signed the papers that gave my daughter away, doesn't mean that I signed them." My hands moved so that she was in my arms, my eyes studying Henry Tate carefully.
He shook his head, his green eyes once again portraying his determination. "I'll die before I let you take her. If you haven't been her father for nine years, you most certainly aren't now." Thump, thump, th-th-thump. The beating of his heart became quicker, causing a small smirk to come across my face.
I slipped my arms from the girl's body, my jaw clenched. "Then let's get it over with; I hate leaving blood everywhere," I commented, my canine's growing as my claws became present again. Of course I didn't want to murder him but if he insisted on it..
Henry took a deep breath, setting Malia carefully aside; he honestly believed that he would kick my ass quietly. He couldn't have known that I was well experienced with hunters, werewolf and normal animal alike; I could most likely guess his upcoming movements before they happened.
He threw a punch and I caught it with ease, crushing the bones underneath my own hand. He let out a sound of pain before attempting to throw another punch; I caught his wrist and twisted it so that the top of his arm faced me. My elbow collided with his arm, creating the sound of bones breaking. The angle of his cartilage from his arm assured me that if he lived, he would have quite the hospital bill.
I grabbed his hair, leading his head into the coffee table as he struggled against me, blood splattering on the glass. I chuckled, pulling him back to look at me as a blood trail ran from his mouth and slowly spilled to his neck. Already, he seemed to be exhausted; I took some odd pride in the fact that I was stronger than him, that I was better than him.
"Would you like to die faster?" I taunted, my claw running from his brow to his cheekbone. "I'd love to tear your throat out now but.. I always loved to play with things before I killed it; my mother never could quite break me of the habit."
Henry made a noise of annoyance before sending his other elbow into my gut, barely making me shift. Is this your best? No wonder Malia never learned anything.
Rather than beating him senseless, I simply let him go, letting him find his footing for a few moments. Once he raised his fists, I pressed my lips together, ramming into him and sending him into the wall. A hole the size of his torso was formed, leaving the only evidence that he had once been there. His body was on the floor, curled up in pain and attempting to recover.
My claws dug into his arm after I reached down to pull him from the walnut colored laminate, his weight more limp in my grip than I expected. My other hand wrapped around his throat tightly, watching the blood drip down slowly. The only thing that distracted me from ripping him apart was the sound of a loading gun.
Both my head and Henry's turned, our eyes falling onto Malia; she stood with a pistol in her hand, though it trembled. Her heartbeat could've been heard from a mile away. Th-thump. Th-thu-thump. "Let him go," she spoke quietly, her voice managing to stay even.
I hadn't always used my brain strategically but the opportunity was too good to resist. "You don't want to shoot me; I know you don't. And you also know that I'm familiar in some form, don't you?"
Her grip on the gun seemed to go stronger as her eyebrows furrowed together. I could practically hear her mind screaming for her to stay calm. Her scent came off as three things: confusion, desperation, and horror. I mentally placed all three under the likely categories as she took her time to form an answer. "What do you want?"
"You're my daughter," I began, bringing Henry to me so that he stood between myself and the barrel of the weapon pointed at me. "You inherited abilities, abilities that you can't control; even though nothing has changed physically, you can feel it inside you, can't you?"
Her eyes shot to her adoptive father, almost as if to plead for a written answer from him. He gave no such reply, being as my fingers added pressure against his throat, nearly to the point of him being unable to breathe.
"I can help you, Malia. You don't belong here, with these people who don't know what it's like. You belong with me, with Derek; you belong with your family." In all the times that Scott had spoken of her, he mentioned that her spot of weakness had come from her family. Although it was cruel, I was not below weaponizing it against her.
Gears began to shift in her head and the cons slowly died away to the pro's, leading to the falling of the gun. "If I go with you, you have to promise that they won't get hurt by you or.. or whatever it is you are."
"Malia, no.." Henry protested through gasps, eventually falling limp as I cut his oxygen. He wasn't to be my downfall. His eyes still remained open, as if he would take in every detail for all he was worth. His heart rate even returned to normal oddly as the moments ticked by.
Malia's eyes focused on him before moving to me, a small coat of tears in them. "Promise me."
I stepped over the broken form of her "father," moving so that I stood within two feet of her. My werewolf- born eyes hid themselves, as well as hiding my nature along with it; my fingernails returned to normal, as did my canine's. "I promise that I will not hurt them, nor will anyone else that is like me."
My lips took on a small smirk and I held my hand out to her, feeling the hesitation pierce through the air with the strength of a sharp blade. Her small hand fit in mine well, making me question who her mother was once more. Talia, if only I could torture it out you now; why do you have to be-?
I became distracted in thought, I realized that there was still years to come before the fire. And once I showed up with Malia? Talia couldn't deny me what was rightfully mine: the truth. She would be forced to tell me, to help me with Malia.. I can trap you, you stupid-
"If you're my father, why didn't you come for me earlier?"
The question broke my concentration, bringing me to the awareness that we were walking in the middle of the street, just near where the Argent's had previously lived. A low, prominent, growl rose from my throat and for a moment, I was tempted to remember the scent of Kate, to hunt her down and kill her once more. But then, I reminded myself that I was not here for her but for someone else.
I took a deep breath, being sure that I kept my pace going steady and strong. "I would have found you one way or another; my sister made sure I would never remember you. Why she did still remains a mystery but she did, nevertheless."
Malia simply nodded and stayed quiet; the only reminder that I had of her being there was her warm hand in mine, occasionally adjusting so that her grip could linger in mine. At those moments, I would look down and find whiskey-brown orbs that would stare right back at me.
Travelling became difficult in the woods; she was tired from walking so far already and if I were being honest, I was exhausted as well, but not from walking. It was the travelling between times; something about being spit from the layer of time I had once been in to this time had taken something out of me. I was revived, as well, in some fashion. Some of the withdraws from being in a coma and dying were no longer present but I remembered them very well.
She ended up in my arms, her form rolled away from mine, arms and legs hanging off in an odd fashion. She still hated me, despite having to accept that she had been lied to by the Tate's. Oh, pish posh; you'll eventually warm up to me. Everyone does at some point.
The moment of satisfaction was saved, however, for when I knocked on the door. It was still white, still untouched from the fire that would happen in the future, and leave it black from damage. As the doors opened, I embraced the look that had once been a reality, the white walls, to the staircase that was perfectly intact and well taken care of, the flooring looking as if it had been installed only days prior to now.
Talia looked at me, a tight smile on her lips, her eyes questioning my whereabouts, when she took in the figure that I held. My lips turned up into a smirk, my cheeks hugging my cheekbones slightly with the promise of upcoming mischief. Never had a pair of eyes been so wide, especially in a child's direction; my sister could've passed for a circus freak.
"Talia," I began, sarcasm practically dripping from my words, "I think I found out a little secret of mine today. Do you mind sharing it with me? Somehow, I confused myself and ended up in someone else's house, where I found a little girl named Malia Tate. It's a shame really; she seems to be more of a Hale." I chuckled, adding to my snide attitude towards her.
She simply stared at the being I held, nothing coming from her mouth; how typical of her. She most likely assumed that I murdered someone and the blood on my shirt didn't help convincing her otherwise. Sort out the priorities. Remind her what she stole from you.
"Oh, dear sister, what's good?"
