Finally remembered to bring this over from Archive of Our Own for Fanfiction-dot-Net TWFans to enjoy. Note: The Author's Note that follows this is copied from the Author's Note on Archive of Our Own, from October 10, 2020. Enjoy.
*singsong tone* This...is...crack!
Sorry, sorry, but really. I wrote this on my cellphone during a +24 hour blackout that only just ended.
Please enjoy the madness.
"Can you drown someone in pudding?"
While that may not have been the weirdest thing to come out of the mouth of one Stiles "No-You-Cannot-Know-My-First-Name" Stilinski, it definitely ranked in the current top ten-at least in the collective opinions of the rest of the reformed Hale Pack.
"Technically, that may count more as 'suffocation', but it could be completely plausible."
And Peter Hale ("Uncle Creeper", the "Dread Zombie Wolf", or whatever the hell the rest of the pack members were calling him this week) had certainly said, and done, far worse than agree with the insanity coming from the hyperactive teenager...
"Why exactly are we discussing this lovely hypothetical scenario?"
But actively encouraging the madness was definitely putting fresh tallies into the "Why Derek Should Rip Peter's Throat Out With His Teeth" column!
As much as no one wanted to...Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Lydia (who was dragging Jackson, who had grabbed onto a now loudly protesting Danny) and Allison (who was dragging an equally protesting Scott, who was doing a passable impression of a cat trying to avoid a bathtub full of water) all slunk over to the doorway into the expansive kitchen of the freshly rebuilt Hale House and peered nervously around the finely hewn wood of the archway frame and into the kitchen at the pair of self-proclaimed 'mad geniuses'...
Who were sitting at the island, backs to the archway, and patiently waiting on the pans of Stiles' 'famous' butterscotch brownies to finish cooking.
The "Dread Zombie Wolf" in question, set down his magazine (thankfully not the oft-made-joke-by-Erica 'serial killer edition of GQ') and looked at his fellow 'mad genius' who was on what had to be, based on his average consumption, Stilinski's sixth can of Mountain Dew for the day. Stiles looked at Peter, then shrugged. "Don't know. I was thinking about that show, 1000 Ways To Die, and kinda wondered if it was possible. Be one weird AF obituary though."
"You know...I have heard of that show, but I have never seen it." Peter mused, resting a fist to his chin and giving the teenager a smile so innocent that it could have fooled a priest. "Think that it would inspire me? I do need to keep your father and Argent on their toes, after all."
"Leave my dad alone unless you're making sure he's staying off the red meat and the pork like we agreed you'd do, Creeper Wolf." Stiles deadpanned before taking another swig of his soda. "As for the show...well...let's just say there're some ways to die in that show that I wouldn't mind causing to certain assholes."
'Dear God-' Was the collective internal whimper of the pack framing the doorway like they were in an episode of Scooby Doo. '-It's worse than we thought.'
"Ahh...so it would be inspiring. Lovely. I'll look it up tonight."
"Grab your favorite booze and snacks and just binge watch." Stiles said with a grin. "May I also suggest the show MANswers? Gives some interesting info about the real questions of the universe."
"Now THAT one I've heard about. I'm certain that Scott was telling you to stop watching reruns of it online." Peter said with a smirk as he picked up his water bottle. "Something about you 'filling his brain' with things that Melissa would glare at him for knowing?"
"That was only 'cause I was describing just how tiny a woman's bathing suit can actually get before it's an indecent exposure charge and Melissa and my dad just happened to walk into the room at the worst possible moment."
The pack nervously glanced at one another as Stiles somehow managed to steer the conversation back to 1000 Ways to Die, seemingly deliriously happy to give tidbits about a couple of episodes that were sure to get the full attention of the (as Stiles oft-reminded them to 'get their terminology straight') "psychotic with narcissistic tendencies" sitting next to him. Allison just pulled up her crossbow (earning many nods from the pack, save for Boyd who was glancing behind them as Cora wandered up to see what madness was going on today) and loaded a bolt, then took aim.
The last thing that anyone needed (not just Derek, Chris, or the Sheriff, but the entire world as a whole!) was these two being 'murder-buddies'.
"What are you all doing around this door?" Came the voice of a certain grumpy Alpha, Eyebrows of Doom enhancing the confused glare on his face, as Derek came up behind his betas, tailed by the pack's most recent members, Aiden and Ethan...who looked equally confused on what in the actual fuck that they had walked in on.
The pack (minus the eternally unflappable Boyd) scattered from the archway, drawing the attention of the pair in the kitchen who only turned to stare at the gathered betas as if every last one of them had lost their minds. After a minute of silence, Stiles scowled. "Allison, put the crossbow down. Remember the house rules about murder."
When no one offered up an explanation, Derek looked into the kitchen at Peter and Stiles...only for Peter to smirk at him and pat the teenager next to him on the shoulder. "Dear nephew...Stiles has just informed me of a television show that we should all watch some day."
Derek's eyebrows raised, not fully sure how to take this, before his uncle continued cheerfully. "You know, I do believe that Stiles here is my favorite of your pack. We just have so much in common."
Derek glanced over at Allison. "...You get one shot. Don't hit Stiles."
