Author's Notes: I wanted to get some things out before the new season starts, so these are just some unrelated, stand alone drabbles I've accumulated. Some humor, some angst, lots of hurt/comfort. Most will contain Pack-ness, Sterek, Pre-Sterek, and Bromance of Scott and Stiles.
Warning for this part: none.
Summary: The pack humans have their own unique reputations after all their battles; nick names. Stiles isn't thriled about his. Mostly a badass pack, feel good drabble.
04 (Names)
Stiles wasn't any kind of oblivious. He knew the teasing jokes always just around the corner (from a grinning Peter specifically) and took great pains to avoid them. Anytime a wayward hunter looking to make a name for himself came into town, it was always Stiles they singled out. Same with rival packs or feral omegas.
He didn't get it! Allison, Lydia, and Danny were all just as human as he was, dammit! (Well, maybe not so much wth Lydia, but she looked the part!) But none of them ever got it.
Allison was always 'the hunter' or 'the archer'.
Lydia was always whispered around cautiously (cause no one really wanted to mess with Lydia) as 'the immune'.
Danny was the only one who may have come under the same heading, but, while both of them tended to do the majority of the pack research, Danny was decidedly more home-based, rarely coming out into battles.
Stiles…well, he'd always run head first into everything that screamed 'danger' anyway, even before the werewolves. So it was always, inevitably, him.
'The boy who runs with wolves', the most recent, doomed bad guy would sneer; which, invariably led to taunts of 'Little Red'.
"Dammit!" Stiles groaned as the omegas blood splattered across his front as Boyd severed the feral wolf's head. Stiles swore they did this on purpose. "Seriously?" He looked at Boyd dejectedly, exasperated. The other teen had some genuine remorse about him, but the sneaking grin took all the validity out of it.
"Sorry, man."
Stiles grunted at him in displeasure, already knowing tonight was a loss. It was an off white hoodie this time. Crap. He'd tried every color, but nothing hid it, dark or light, and somehow, Stiles always ended up covered in something's blood. He'd thought about just prowling about in t shirts, but he liked hoodies, dammit! He'd already sacrificed his favorite red one to try and avoid the comparisons, but it was inevitable.
"Shut. Up." Stiles told them all before even turning around. "Not tonight. I will maim all of you, I swear."
There was chuckling and all the sly grins ever, but they seemed to be willing to let it go tonight.
On the walk back to their cars, Peter started humming and the others couldn't keep the smiles off their lips. Scott chuckled. Stiles stalked off ahead of them into the night as strains of off-tune creeper uncle singing echoed.
"Hey there, little red riding hood, you sure are looking good."
God he hated his family of morons. He was already plotting his revenge.