Stiles didn't expect an ambush, mostly because Lydia failed to mention that her psycho boyfriend is a werewolf. The only reasoning behind it, that Stiles can find, is that she was trying to protect him. Being that Danny's death was purely because of a wolf it isn't a stretch that her brother might be bias. Then Scott is a wolf now and Stiles is very much a 'judge not a book by it's cover' type.
Peter though, his cover is what is appealing about him, but get a taste at the interior and you have a whole different story on your hands. Not that Stiles actually knew any of that until about five minutes ago, and seriously if they make it out of this crap alive he is going to have a full discretion agreement with Lydia -maybe even a screening process for all her dates-, cause he is officially in way over his head.
From the corner of his eye, Stiles watches helplessly as Peter's hand glides up her thigh. He talks about how she is special and beautiful, yet is treating her like little more than a broken doll. It's not hard to see the effects of it in her eyes. The fading of the strength that once burned bright, and the hopeful longing for love? Well that seems to be all but eradicated. Stiles can't do it. He can't sit there any longer and watch that man, this beast, break his sister.
His body shifts, just slightly but she must see the change. Her eyes catch his. "Get the wolf's bane," she whispered softly, using her magic so that only her brother can hear "It's in my bag." He can feel how the rage twists under his skin, draws his brows to a tight furrow, but he has a outlet now. If he can just get to the wolf's bane, and get it in Peter's system they can get away. Stiles does well with a plan, following some structure, having a goal.
Each second ticks by slowly through heavy air. As he breaths in and out, it stretches at tight lungs, and it's all he can to to keep his body from shaking. Lydia is wedged in between the two bucket seats, her body contorted awkwardly as Peter continues to paw at her in his moon drunk state. "Did we really have to all shove in my piece of crap Jeep?" he asks too loud, trying for all he is worth to draw attention from where his right hand slides between himself and his sister.
His eyes shift over, meeting the wolf's who arches a brow and rolls his eyes. Fishing into the bag Stiles finds his target, crushing the herb in his hand. In one fluid motion he draws from the bag and pressing his palm flush with Lydia's, passing off their salvation. It's subtle, he won't notice her actions if he wasn't watching her so closely. Not just that, but he can see how she is using her magic to shield herself, a veil around her hazed in disorientation.
The air hitches in the back of his throat. His chest doesn't rise or fall he simply waits as he watches her put the herb in her own mouth before snaking a hand around the nap of Peter's neck. Their mouths met with parted lips, and it brings bile rising to even watch. Stiles' gaze flips back to the open road. This is it, if this doesn't work… well he doesn't know what he'll do. Drive the Jeep off the next bridge and hope for the best?
There is a switch. Lydia's back is pushed harder into his right arm. Flailing, she squawks trying to get away from him. Glowing red eyes cut through the darkness, Peter is more animal than human. At that Stiles jerks the steering wheel, nearly crashing the Jeep as he pulls on to the road's shoulder. The gravel growls a protest as they roll to a stop. Even in the darkness, Stiles can see a flash of glistening teeth, and he'll be damned if he is going to let that bastard bite his sister. Ripping off his seat belt, he launches himself with a selfless kind of wreak-less abandonment.
It's all to no avail. Before Stiles can even blink, Peter has them both pinned underneath him. The man is stronger than anyone, anything, Stiles has ever seen. Well at least physically. The magic that flows in the young man's veins keeps him fighting. He squirms under the heavy weight. Claws dig into his shoulder, breaking through the all too human flesh. The heat of his own blood trails down his thin arms. "You know I've never bitten twins before…" there is a cold calculation in his voice as he edges closer.
He is so not prepared for this, and why, exactly, is the wolf's bane having no effect? 'Oh my god! Has she given him so much he is immune?!' he idly thinks, which only rising a frantic kind of panic. It drives his actions forward, brings his shaking fist to collide with the side of Peter's head. He puts not only every ounce of his physical strength -which compared to the beast isn't much- but combines with it as much of his essence, his magic, as he can without passing out.
Peter slumps, but Stiles doesn't stop. In fact, he continues to fling blows into his chest and head, terrified that it won't be enough, that any moment the wolf will leap forward and end him. It's Lydia's scream that finally causes him pause. It's blood curdling and brings the hairs on the back of his arms to rise. He turns to face her. Tear tracks are streaming down the delicate curve of her cheeks. His hand finds her's, and she gasps for air. "We gave him too much." It's then that he see how blood is pooled around dip in her neck, fang shape divots tarnishing the ivory skin. Stiles can find no remorse in his action.
— —
That is the first night she dreams of him, if you can even call it that. She falls into the the sheets of her childhood bed, dirt from his shallow grave embedded under perfect nails, and sleep envelops her instantly. However it is anything but restful. It is darkness that surrounds her, and the only thing that cuts through, that tells her she isn't drowning in tar, a brilliant red. It calls to her, like it was made for her and her alone. Tendrils of shadow curling around her skin are both comforting and off putting. She wants to run but her body ignores the desire. Each action, each step, is not her own. It is as though her body doesn't even belong to her any longer. Something outside is controlling her, compelling her.
It's then that she feels it, phantom pain… no real pain, twisting up her arm, and her hand? It feels like it's on fire. She wakes up screaming. The force behind it is so great that it brings tears to her eyes. Standing at the foot of her bed is her aunt. Worry, fatigue, even fear color her features. The sheets are twisted around her legs and pinning her arms to her side. It takes some effort but she wriggles herself free. She isn't however rewarded for her actions. Pale lilac cotton is stained red… with her own blood.
— —
Stiles waited for days, called Scott about nineteen times, and worried -after all the dull roar of panic isn't exactly unfamiliar-. Much to his surprise Lydia is both alive and still human, or as human as the pair of them ever has been. No blood black, no fangs, and no glowing yellow eyes. He doesn't know if he should be relived or freak out more. Maybe witches are immune, but then does the buck actually stop there.
Regardless, it's nice having his sister home, but her behavior at breakfast paired with the mysterious disappearance of their aunt and uncle… well it's enough to put him on edge. That and killing a werewolf, can't forget that little tidbit. That is why he jumps at the forceful knocking on the front door. At least that's the story he is going to tell, not that he will actually admit to his moment of cowardice.
Recomposing himself, Stiles leans up on his toes and looks through the peep hole. The man on the other side is a stranger, even if he is a tall, dark and handsome one. His skin is almost olive tone, and the line of scruff on his jaw line only adds to his attractive, yet sharp features. Opening the door, he says "Hi, can I help you?" he doesn't keep the edge of snark out of his tone.
If the man is off-put he doesn't show it. There are things to be said for having a good poker face. "I'm looking for Peter Hale."
'Shit' He doesn't allow himself to panic though, not yet. "And you are?" he bites back, holding on to the false bravado for all it's worth. Crossing his arms across his chest, he blocks out the door as best he can. He's pretty sure that if mister mysterious wants in, Stiles would be no true obstacle.
The brunette shifts, pulling something out of his pocket. "Derek," he says, producing a shiny law enforcement badge. "Deputy Derek Hale." He looks Stiles straight in the eyes, brows drawn and a slight frown touching the corners of his lips.
'Double shit,' because now he is a hundred and ten percent sure he is totally screwed. The sheer bulk of the man in front of him should be intimidating, not to mention the fact the there could be a looming murder investigation, but still when Derek steps forward Stiles doesn't move… at least not right away. They hover in the door way, far to close for strangers. There is a kind of electric buzz being this near to the cop. It makes Stiles' head spin, and right as there chests are about to touch, he caves stepping backward into the house and letting Derek follow.
A steady hand pulls out a piece of paper from the file he is carrying. Derek sets it on the table and slides it towards Stiles. "That's what he is capable of." Stiles regrets it the instant he looks down. The image is of a young woman, as best he can tell, but she has been shredded, torn in half.
"Oh my god," Stiles exclaims, shoving the image out of his face. "Dude, I can't do blood. Seriously," he clinches, covering his mouth with his hand making garbling noises "I think I'm gonna be sick."
Derek grabs his arm, snarling through his teeth "This isn't a game." The pressure on the still healing claw marks is too much. He isn't proud of it, but he yelps trying to pull back. The action only makes the pain worse and he caves into the fold of Derek's elbow. His face is drawn tight and his eyes pinched closed. The grip loosens almost instantly. It's too late to stop the soft ache of what will surely be bruises on the back of his upper arm.
He stands there frozen, staring into pale green eyes. Maybe he should back down, cower away, but he stands his ground, even straightens his spine ever so slighty. It brings him face to face with sharp cheek bones and dark stubble. He is close enough to feel the warmth that clings to Derek's skin. Air catches in his chest and the soft thud of his heart picks up enough that he swears he can feel it drumming against his ribs. Maybe he should be scared, but Stiles has never really reacted in the way he should.
He doesn't miss how Derek is glancing back and forth between his eyes and his mouth, or how his hand is still on him though the grip has loosened considerably. Then it isn't exactly subtle. While the witch might not exactly be the expert of flirting, Derek's actions aren't hard not to read as such. If it weren't for the aggressive edge around him, Stiles would swear that he has a crush.
The moment is shattered before he really has an opportunity to take it in. Derek all but stumbles backward putting as large a gap between them as possible in just a few short seconds. Collecting the picture from the table he leaves without another word.